Crazy On You
by Madpadz
Summary: Emotions are always on edge in Gotham. New criminals are formed in the city's depths while some run, and others hide. Joker/Harley.
1. All There's Left to Do Is Go Crazy

**A/N: Don't own anything. If I owned the Joker, well... we'll save that for another time.**

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_"There's nothing left to do at night but go crazy on you."  
_**-Crazy On You **by **Heart**

Bitter cold had swept over Gotham City in the usual way it did around winter time; people wore multiple layers of clothing and scarves in an attempt to keep themselves warm. Although holiday cheer was beginning to creep its way into the lives of many citizens through sales in stores and happy snowmen decorating windows and front yards all over the city, the sky remained bleak and eerie. The Joker set his gaze upon the gray sky through the window of the abandoned hotel in which he and his men had made their hideout.

It was one of those unusual days where he had actually gotten a normal amount of sleep. After scrounging for a place to stay for hours, he had remembered that Oswald Cobblepot's huge hotel construction had been put on hold for a while due to a slight scuffle with Gotham Police Department. He figured the old bird wouldn't mind if he stayed for a while.

Upon their arrival, he was surprised to see that the construction was, in fact, almost finished. Most of the rooms appeared to be fully furnished, and only some had painting and wallpaper that remained uncompleted. He told the boys that they were free to find their own room as long as they stayed away from the floor he was residing on. With that said he grabbed Harley and headed up the stairs to find a suite that was close to the ground floor. Thankfully not having to climb all twenty-four stories, they found a suite on the third floor. The lock system hadn't been installed yet, so he pushed open the door and ushered Harley inside. He swiftly shut the door behind them, bolting the door manually. Without even bothering to look around the spacious room or take his shoes off, he threw himself on the king-sized bed and closed his eyes. He opened one eye to take peek at Harley who was looking at him with her hands on her hips. He huffed and she continued to stare at him. Rolling his eyes, he removed his coat and shoes, threw back the covers of the bed and got underneath them.

He closed his eyes but did not allow sleep to overtake him until he felt the weight shift on the bed as Harley lay down on it. As soon as he heard her head softly hit the pillow, he pulled her body close to his and held her tightly to him. She intertwined her fingers with his, and he finally allowed his body the rest it was begging for.

When he awoke, he reached over to where he thought Harley's body was but found that she wasn't there. The fact that the first thing he did was search for her made him crazy, but ignored the feeling. He held his bodyweight up on his elbows and looked around the room. After a second of searching with his eyes, he listened and heard the shower running in the bathroom that was a few feet away from the bed. Rolling over onto his back, he stared out the window at the murky sky without blinking.

He didn't really feel like getting up. He didn't really feel like doing much of anything, actually. He didn't have anything planned for the day (not the he actually planned _anything_) and he figured the boys and Harley could use a day off. He sort of liked the idea of lying around with Harley all day, and it annoyed him. He chewed the inside of his scars as he briefly thought about storming into the bathroom and bashing her head against the wall, but realized nothing productive would come out of it. It seemed like no matter how much he punched, kicked, scratched, and verbally abused Harley, he still couldn't get rid of that stupid twisting feeling he got in his stomach when he looked at her. Plus, today, he just didn't feel like it.

He was jarred from his thoughts as the bathroom door opened and Harley emerged in tight, black gym pants and a large shirt that he was quite positive was his. He felt the corners of his mouth pull up slightly as she rummaged through her bag, not noticing he was awake. That was one of the things he and Harley had in common; once they entered their thoughts, not much could pull them away from them.

"Looking for something, Harl?" he asked, snickering as she jumped at the sound of his voice. She regarded him over her shoulder, grinning slightly at him. She always seemed to be able to laugh at herself, a quality that he found quite endearing. How he could find someone that constantly caused him to, he shuddered, doubt his 'feelings' endearing, he would never know. There was just something about her that was irresistible; almost like a drug. The violent feelings toward her returned with vengeance.

"Hey, I didn't know you were awake," she replied quietly, turning back to her bag. "Sleep well?" He nodded, continuing to watch her as she searched the bag's contents. She froze and he raised an eyebrow. She let her back hit the floor and started giggling uncontrollably. He couldn't help but grin at the sight, and the urge to pull that bouncy blonde hair out of her scalp disappeared once again.

"I don't even remember what I was looking for!" she explained to him between giggles. He let out a bark of laughter and summoned her to join him on the bed. As she sidled up to him, he was surprised to find that her skin was freezing. He looked down at her incredulously.

"Did you take a cold shower?" He wouldn't put it past her; she had weird tendencies, such as getting up at 3:17 every morning for a glass of water, only to wake up about three hours later to practice gymnastics if she could. She stared at him.

"J, that's stupid. It's freezing outside, and you know better than anyone that I have less than marvelous blood circulation in my hands and feet." He nipped at her finger playfully, though he momentarily thought of breaking it in half. She pinched the skin on his leg in between her toes. He chortled and she joined in.

No, he wouldn't hurt her. Not today.

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A/N: Sooo, haven't written anything in a while. I knew it was time, but I couldn't really think of anything concrete. So when I was learning about the Judiciary Act of I-Don't-Know-When-Because-I-Wasn't-Paying-Attention in class today, I thought of this short, sweet story. I think that the Joker and Harley are capable of normalcy every now and then. The main point of this story, though, is that Joker really wants to hurt Harley but he doesn't ALWAYS act on impulse. I think if he did, Harley would either be dead or severely disfigured. Just sayin'. Anyway, please be nice and leave a review because they make me do a victorious fist-punch in the air.


	2. The Little Temptress

**Disclaimer: I don't own Joker or Harley. Only this mindless entertainment is mine.**

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_"You hit me once, I hit you back  
you gave a kick, I gave a slap  
you smashed a plate over my head,  
then I set fire to our bed."_  
-**Kiss With A Fist** by **Florence and the Machine  
**  
Usually, it was Harley that played doctor. They would come home from a heist or a scuffle with the Bat, bruised and battered. If he had a knife wound, she would get out her medical kit and stitch it up; that was how it worked. She would even fix herself up when she was injured; she never asked for his help when it came to things like that. There was no, "Mr. J, can you hold me while I close up this hole in my leg?" It never came to that.

Today wasn't their usual day. It had started out as normal as _they _got in the day-to-day situations. He had woken up to Harley lying next to him, looking content and (there was no other word he could think of) beautiful. The sun beat down through the window and her hair appeared even more golden than normal. When her eyes flickered open and those baby blues stared up at him sleepily, he lost it. He pushed her off the bed and she fell to the floor with a thud.

"What the hell, J?" she demanded angrily, rubbing her sore backside. He glared at her from his position on the bed; he couldn't summon the words to express the _disgust _he felt at himself for being attached to her. The little temptress would pay. He rose from the bed and turned away from her and she laughed humorlessly. "One of _those _days…" she said to herself, but just loud enough that he heard her.

He turned swiftly on his heel to look at her. "What did you say?" She heard the warning that lined the edges of his words. She just looked at him; he could almost see her refraining from raising an eyebrow at him. "_Well_, Harley-dear? Care to share with the class?" She turned away from him.

He couldn't have that.

Moving at an inhuman speed, he was in front of her. He grabbed her by the jaw and forced her head towards him. "_Look at me!_" She fought against his grip, refusing to meet his gaze. He pushed her back violently against the wall and slid his hands down to her pale neck. It was when he started to squeeze her throat that she finally looked at him.

And she looked bored.

"Try something new and every once in a while, J. This is getting old," she rasped, attempting to flatten herself against the wall. He snarled and threw her to the side, making her land on butt for the second time that morning.

"I'm not in the mood for this today, Har_ley_," he said while approaching her threateningly; he loomed over her small frame. She laughed at him.

"Oh, _oh_!" she laughed even more when he stopped short. "That's rich! You're the one who decided to start the day off like _this_!" she shrieked at him. He slapped her across the face and her neck snapped to the left; her face tingled and began to sting seconds after contact with his hand.

These days bothered her. His moods were even shiftier than the unpredictable weather of Gotham, and that was saying something. She accepted him and all of his flaws, including his mood swings. But sometimes she just _had _to say something or fight back lest he completely lose control. As much as she liked to think he wouldn't, she was never entirely sure that he wouldn't kill her; sometimes it sure seemed like it wouldn't be hard for him to do it.

He picked her up roughly from the ground by her left arm and disregarded the sarcastic, "Um, ow!" she emitted when he did so. He threw her against the door of the room, and realized after that it wasn't completely closed as she flew through the doorway.

"Oops!" he called. "Sorry, _sweetheart_!" He cackled loudly but it was cut off abruptly as she grabbed his ankle and pulled him down to the ground beside her. He landed on his back, slightly winded.

She grinned mirthlessly at him. "It's no problem, _honey bunny_." He growled and got back on his feet, pulling her up by the collar of her white oxford shirt that was beneath her black and red vest. He took her through another door; the one that led to the flight of stairs. He smiled at her as she looked down at them. Then she began to laugh.

"Go ahead, baby! Throw me down!"

"I will," he said in between chortles, "but not because you asked." He threw her down the steps, his aim slightly off. Her head smacked against the railing, then again on a step. She had rolled down to the next flight when he realized that the blow had knocked her unconscious. He laughed.

"Well, shit, Harl," he yelled as if she could hear him. "Way to ruin the game!" He waltzed down the steps towards her motionless body. He was going to kick her, but he noticed blood seeping outward from her body. He stood, confused. Cautiously, he turned her body over. A knife that she carried in her garters had come unsheathed and, with her fabulous luck, had managed to stab her in the leg.

"Isn't that just magnificent," he grunted as he picked her up bridal-style and carried her back to the room. He laid her down on the cream-colored sheets and examined her wound. He pulled the knife out quickly and she squirmed uncomfortably. She would live; this was just a small payback for what he made his mind go through every day. No, he wasn't going to play doctor. When she woke up she would fix herself.

Like he said, the little temptress would pay.

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A/N: Sooo, I decided to make this one a bit longer. I've decided to be brave. No promises that this will be updated frequently, but I pink promise that I will try my hardest to update reasonably. Not too sure about this chapter, the idea just sort of struck me and I went with it. This chappie is pretty much the complete opposite of the last one, which is kind of what I was going for. Yes, they are still in Penguin's under construction hotel, hence the stairwell. Hope you enjoyed, please leave a review because they bring a smiiiile to my face!


	3. I Think She Took My Soul

**disclaimer: Again, I don't own much other than my artwork. I especially don't own any of DC's marvelous characters.**

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"_She took my heart; I think she took my soul."_  
-**Closer **by **Kings of Leon**

He had been eating on the island of the kitchen area in their suite when she entered the room. Knowing she would be angry at him, he didn't acknowledge her presence immediately; he was actually hoping she wouldn't want to talk to him for a while. She limped slightly as she made her way over to him; he wasn't looking, but he heard the uneven footsteps on the tile floor. He looked up at her expressionlessly when she stopped in front of him. Her eyes were cold; though the look didn't deter him (he was _the Joker_, after all) he didn't like it being directed at _him._ There was a silence that filled the room and it left his ears ringing uncomfortably. He decided to be the first to fill the void.

"How are you doing, _toots_?" He figured the pet name would only make her mood worsen, but he didn't care much. She would get over it. She _always _got over it.

She just stared at him. His eyes flitted to the bandage wrapped around her leg and the dry blood that surrounded it. He had thought about cleaning her up a bit, but at the time he just hadn't wanted to look at her anymore.

"Well, uh, alright then," he said sarcastically, getting up to throw the plate in the sink. She swiftly pushed him back onto the chair, catching him off guard. Before he could even retaliate, she punched him right in the jaw. He had to admit, she had a _damn _good arm. He laughed it off, rubbing his jaw as the action made it throb painfully. He'd had worse. When his laughter died down to a quiet chuckle, he looked at her face to see her look straight into his eyes.

It was something that, from day one, he had admired her for. No one he had crossed, besides the Batman, had _ever _done that. She had just walked into the room in which his therapy was taking place, sat down, and looked him straight in the eye. From that point on he had known that she was different than everyone else in Arkham, and that he would have just _oodles _of fun playing with her. At the time he hadn't thought he was playing for keeps.

Then again, he hadn't known she would play the game so well, either.

He stared at her right back, seeing his own reflection in her blue eyes. Then she smiled and began to giggle. He grinned back at her, pulling her by her waist down onto his lap.

"How's it going, slugger?" the name made her laugh, but she winced. He frowned a little.

"My head, you know, twinges a bit, thanks to you," she attempted seriousness, but the loopy grin only returned to her face seconds later. He shrugged.

"The, uh, _stab wound_, wasn't my fault," he drawled. "that was _your _doing." She just sighed and leaned back into his chest; he buried his face in her hair.

"What are we doing today?" she asked him warily. He looked up at her.

"You sound _tired_." She shook her head, and her blonde locks tickled his face. He almost enjoyed the feeling. Almost.

"I'm not. I just don't want to do anything particularly strenuous." He stared at her.

"That's what I would call tired, Harl." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah," she replied, "only because you're barely ever tired, which I still don't understand because you barely ever _sleep_." He chuckled as he nibbled at the fabric covering her shoulder.

"A magician never reveals his, uh, _secrets_." They sat there for a while, not saying anything. He enjoyed this kind of silence; the kind where they weren't seething at each other.

"You never answered my question," she prodded gently.

"I've heard through the grapevine that ole' Pengy is staying in the 'secret' rooms underneath his _beloved _Iceberg Lounge," he tittered at this. Cobblepot's location was only a secret to the GCPD. "So I figured we'd _perhaps _pay him a visit. To, you know, tell him that we're borrowing his land for a bit." Harley raised her eyebrows; he normally didn't show gestures of politeness such as that. He seemed to read her mind as he continued, "I like to, uh, _keep a close eye_ on that one. He tends to _talk_, if you get my meaning." She nodded in understanding.

"Shall we get dressed, then?" She asked perkily. He grabbed her around the torso and stood, lifting her up as he walked into the bathroom. He closed the door and she took the hint, walking over to the bathtub and turning the faucet and pulling the knob that turned on the shower head. Once they had removed all articles of clothing, they got into the shower and pulled the curtain closed.

She stood with her back to him, wetting her hair beneath the nearly too-hot water. Water droplets rolled down dry strands of hair and caressed her back. As he watched more water glisten down her pale skin, he fought down the urge grab her small frame and pull it toward himself. Instead, he turned her around and wet the back of her hair for her. She had the ghost of a grin on her face as he grabbed her shampoo off the shelf and began to lather her head with it.

They showered together often; it was not a sexual act (most of the time). It was mostly just a moment for the both of them to think without saying a word to the other, although he was fairly sure Harley did it just to be with him. As much as he hated to admit it, he sometimes did it just to be with her, too.

After he had scrubbed her hair thoroughly, he applied pressure to the back of her neck to signify to lean her head back; she closed her eyes as the soapy water ran over her face and cascaded down her front. He repeated the process but instead scrubbed her body down. When he was done they switched places and his head was placed under the descending water. As he turned away from her he could feel her gaze on his back, examining the scars that littered his body like carvings on ancient artifacts. He washed his own hair and when he was done rinsing it felt Harley's cold touch on one of the biggest scars on his shoulder. He suppressed a shiver as she light traced it. Her finger paused and he began to cleanse his body; he felt her hands drop and he knew she was content to just be in his presence. He turned to face her once again, his eyes taking rest on her face.

She looked at him for several seconds and then leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his slender waist and laying her ear on his heart. He curled his fingers into her hair and placed his other arm around her waist; he was still slightly surprised from time to time at how small she really was in comparison to him. Not only was he a little more than a head taller than her, he could almost wrap one arm completely around her. A warm sensation filled his chest and he gently pushed her away from him. Turning off the shower, he opened the curtain and stepped onto the bathmat. She followed suit, grabbing two towels off of the rack above the toilet. She handed one to him, but instead of wrapping it around himself, he placed it on her shoulders. He grabbed the other towel tied it messily around his waist. He pushed on her shoulders, silently ordering her to sit down. She obeyed, looking up at him from the floor. He sat down and gestured for her to turn around.

He grabbed her hairbrush off of the counter and began to run it through her hair. Harley closed her eyes and relished the slight pull on her scalp as he untangled the moistened strands. When her hair was completely tangle-free, he put down the brush and she leaned her head into his lap.

"Thank you, daddy," she said sweetly, her voice like syrup. He howled in laughter.

"No, uh, no problem, _snookums_."

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**A/N: **This chapter was just a tad fluffy towards the end, but like I said, the Joker can be gentle when he wants to. I'm not actually sure this story has a plot; I'm just kinda going with the flow here. Pretty please leave a review, I'll love you forever!


	4. No Control

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own anyone. Boo.

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"_This is your station under no control,  
broadcasting for you to let go."  
_**-No Control **by **Pepper**

It was mid-afternoon when they finally got around to the Iceberg Lounge; they had had a heated debate as to whether they should have a henchman drive or if Harley should. After several minutes of raised voices and a couple of slaps, the Joker ended up driving. When they weren't going on a heist, he drove quite well; he obeyed every rule of the road, including three second stops at stop signs. When they arrived, the Joker began to put his paint on as Harley stepped out of the white van. She stared at him through the windshield as she leaned on the hood with her hammer slung over her shoulder.

The Joker felt Harley's stare, but he didn't acknowledge it; he had gotten used to how frequently she observed him. He looked at her while he reached for the pot of red paint and noticed what she was wearing for the first time that day. She donned pants made of jean-like material; one leg red, one leg black. Her top was covered by a black corset with red ribbons that met at the back; underneath was a short-sleeved, white oxford shirt that was unbuttoned at the top, showing quite a bit of cleavage. He could see the creamy white skin that he had looked at and touched so many times before; where he knew his initial, _J_, was carved into her skin.

He shook his head of the thought, applying the red paint to his ragged scars. He threw the plastic pot into the back if the van carelessly and kicked open the door. Harley smiled widely as he met up with her in the front of the vehicle. He scanned her up and down; starting with her blonde curls and ending at her black sneakers. He laughed as he saw that the laces were untied.

"_That_," he said, pointing at the laces, "is a recipe for trouble." He was very familiar with her clumsiness, and how silly little things like shoe laces could be her downfall (quite literally). She just laughed at the comment and grabbed his hand, heading for the back door of the Iceberg. She rapped on the steel door incessantly until it opened a crack and a face appeared.

"Care to let us in, _sweet cakes_?" she said sarcastically to the man. His eyes widened in recognition and the door swung open completely. The Joker strolled in, guiding Harley down the long hallway that was painted a deep blue. They passed several different doors; ones of different shapes and sizes. They came to the end of the corridor and stopped directly in front of a large golden door that obviously belonged to the boss of the lounge.

_Bingo, _thought Harley as she watched the Joker, who seemed to be internally debating on whether to knock before entering. He obviously decided to knock as he did so once, before opening the door.

The room before them was painted a shade lighter than the hallway that they had just exited and had a crystal chandelier hanging above a large silver desk. Behind the desk was the stout man who Harley assumed to be Oswald Cobblepot; she had never met the man in person, only seen him in pictures. He stood from his black leather chair and tipped his hat to the pair.

"Well, Joker," he said, his voice a guttural sound that grated on Harley's ears, "what a lovely surprise. Please, take a seat," he continued. His eyes moved over to Harley and his eyebrows raised slightly. "And you must be the famous Harley Quinn," he waddled over to her and extended his hand. "Oswald Cobblepot,"

"It's a pleasure," she said sweetly, and she heard J chuckle, knowing she was uncomfortable with the small man.

"Now enough with the _introductions_," the Joker interrupted, "we've got something to discuss, Ozzy." He took a seat in one of the suede chairs opposite the Penguin's leather one. "We've been staying at your hotel, just though I should, _uh_, be polite and tell ya so."

"Ah," was all the other man said in reply as he sat back down in his chair. "I heard through the grapevine that the hotel seemed to be occupied by a few people." He regarded the Joker who was playing with a stack of coins on the desk. It reminded Harley of a time back in Arkham when she and the Joker had played Jenga in her office.

"_You know," he said, chewing his scars, "you can really judge a person's character by this game."_

_She pulled a block on the outer edge, the tower wobbling slightly as she removed it from its firm placement. _

"_How so?" she asked, steadying the tower with her fingers. He regarded her silently for a few moments, then continued._

"_Well," he used his hands to gesture the move she had just made, "the entire tower is life. The individual blocks are the decisions that we make in it. Some people will take the risky moves, like the one you just made. Some people will take the boring ones, like these," he pulled a block that was in the middle of two others, and the tower stayed completely stable. "While the uh, the boring moves are safer, the risky ones make the game more fun."_

"_So," she made her move, "you're saying that without the 'risky' moves in life, it's boring. Too safe, no adventure." He nodded, his eyes scanning the tower for another block to pull._

"_You, doc," he said, his eyes locking on a piece near the bottom, "seem to pull all the risky moves. There have been several turns where you could have just picked the middle block, no problem. But you're determined to pick the ones that make the tower go uh, topsy-turvy. Like me." He pulled the block swiftly, and the tower seemed to lean on its side for a second. "I think that it's reflecting the true Harleen Quinzel."_

_She remained silent, looking for another block. He watched her as she went for another outer block. The tower wobbled and finally fell completely; blocks fell off of her desk and onto the carpeted floor of the room. He rose his eyebrows, his eyes saying so much without him uttering a word._

Since that day, she had understood exactly what he had meant; so many people (Joan Leland, Jeremiah Arkham, Gordon) seemed to pick the moves that weren't fun at all. While J made the risky moves regardless of the consequence, the Penguin seemed to only pull them if they benefitted him winning the game at the end. She didn't like that.

She was pulled from her thoughts as she heard the Joker's laughter. She turned to the door and saw Cobblepot walking out.

"What's happening?" she asked, and the Joker laughed again.

"In another world, Harl?" she just stared at him. He rolled his eyes and pulled her into his lap. "Ozzy had something to tend to. He'll be back in a bit. What were you _think_ing about?" she shrugged, swinging her legs back and forth.

"Nothing really, just judgment of character." He looked at her curiously.

"You don't like Penguin," it wasn't a question. She shrugged again and he laughed. "That's okay, neither do _I_." She giggled and shoved his shoulder weakly. He cackled and nibbled on her neck, trailing up to meet her lips. She smiled against him as he tried to bite her lips, and broke apart to laugh. He captured her mouth again, and they kissed happily until they heard Penguin clear his throat politely.

"Sorry, Ozzy," the Joker said, "young love and all that." The Penguin twittered at the statement.

"Love isn't a word I ever thought would come out of your mouth," he explained. The Joker pushed his knee upward into Harley's legs, signaling for her to stand.

"Well, I suppose that we are done here, Pengy," he said while sliding his purple jacket on over his shoulders. Cobblepot nodded, standing up once again.

"Indeed, it does seem that way. Pay us another visit soon," Harley could detect the slight undertone of sarcasm in the statement, so she figured J could too. He seemed to ignore it, however, as he just nodded as they exited the room. They walked back to the van, and the Joker deliberately stepped on Harley's untied shoelaces, making her trip and nearly fall.

"See," he stated, "recipe for trouble."

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**A/N: **Yeah, not really sure how I feel about this one. I've been meaning to get it down for a while, but with exams for the past week, I haven't really done much of anything other than study. I'm done now, though, so I should probably (hopefully) get some more things in. I wanted to put this chapter mostly from Harley's view, because looking back on everything I've written I almost never do it from her view. The little Jenga bit, believe it or not, was actually something that my dad said while we were playing the other week (yes, we play Jenga very frequently together. DON'T JUDGE). With all that said, I would like to thank everyone that has reviewed this story (and the people who have read it, but not said a thing). I like you a lot more when you review, though. So make me happy and do just that. Happy-Whatever-Holiday-You-Celebrate!


	5. Famous Last Words

**Disclaimer: **You know, I still don't own a thing.

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"_I see you lying next to me with words I thought I'd never speak."  
_**-Famous Last Words **by **My Chemical Romance**

It had been a long day; up in the earlier hours of the morning, they had set off on a journey to check out several sites where the Joker had explosives set up (just in case an idea sparked in his head). The various buildings being rigged might prove to be useful in the future, or so he had told Harley when she asked why they were even bothering with them. No, he didn't have a plan, he was just prepared; 'ahead of the curve'. In the afternoon, they set off again to see the mob. Harley didn't like being in the presence of the greasy, arrogant men; they gave her looks that unsettled her, their stares lingering over her small frame for just a few seconds longer than was necessary. She had voiced this to the Joker, hoping that he would perhaps reschedule the meeting to a later date where she would not have to attend or just place a simple phone call. After vehemently declining both, he assured her that she would be just fine.

"Any of them lay a hand, _a finger,_" he had told her, "they'll wish they had never even uh, _looked_ at your face; much less any _other _part of you."

This display of possessiveness, she knew, was one of the closest things she would ever get to a profession of his love for her. She also knew that if he was smart, no man would even look at her in a way that slightly resembled lust. She had overheard many conversations among the Joker's henchmen that confirmed those thoughts. She recalled the first time she had heard such a thing; it wasn't long after her first public appearance as Harley Quinn, or the Joker's girl.

_She stood in the hallway of the dilapidated hideout, her hair masking half of her face as she listened intently to three men sitting at a table in the kitchen._

"_So who's the chick?" asked one that was slightly overweight, shuffling a deck of cards that were lying on the counter. "She's pretty damn hot. I wouldn't mind spending a night with that." He let out a greasy chuckle as he started dealing cards to the other two men at the table. A thin, scraggly kid who couldn't have been older than twenty-two smacked him on the arm._

"_Are you crazy? You know who that is?" the boy asked incredulously. "That's Harley Quinn—the boss' lady. If you knew what you was doin', you wouldn't even talk about her. If he catches you sayin' anything 'bout her, you won't be spendin' the night with __**nobody**__." The bigger man's eyebrows shot up._

"_Shit, man," he breathed, "how the hell'd the Joker end up with a girl like that? Think he pays her?"_

"_Hell no," the third man finally chipped in. "You seen the way she's always so close to him? You couldn't pay a soul in this city to get that near 'im. She's gotta be a real crazy herself to be that close to him and wanna be there." They all held up their cards, eyes scanning the hands they were dealt._

"_You know there's something wrong with this city when a man like him gets a piece like that," the big man said, shaking his head. The other two nodded in agreement, continuing with their card game without mentioning the topic again._

From then on, almost every new henchman who came into employment of the Joker was given a talk by his fellow men that she was not to be touched or looked at unless addressed to do so. It entertained her, but at the same time was infuriating. Sometimes she would ask to no one in particular what was going on, and would receive no answer because of a fear of losing any appendages. It also made her angry because at times she was sure that people didn't think she could actually do any damage herself; the only reason people kept their hands to themselves was because they feared the Joker's wrath.

When they arrived for their appointment with Maroni and his men, she felt the hungry gazes as soon as she entered the room; she cursed her choice of outfit (primarily her lack thereof). She donned a short black skirt with red diamonds detailed all around the fabric that showed quite a bit of leg, and her shirt was most definitely not hiding what she had to offer. She unconsciously backed up, standing closer to the Joker; she could feel her shoulders rubbing onto the cool, purple fabric of his jacket. His hand snaked around her waist, possessively gripping her hip so tightly that she was sure she would have a bruise later. The stares immediately dissipated at the display, and she grinned widely.

The meeting had flown by; it was really only a reminder that the mob no longer had control over Gotham. The various super-villains that had revealed themselves after the Joker's first run seemed to confirm that. While the mob seemed to be disgruntled at the fact, they realized that their money would continue to flow in because the GCPD was not so much worried about them anymore; they had bigger crimes to worry about. It was not until it was dark and they were on their way back to Penguin's hotel (the Joker said they were safe to stay there for a few weeks, and they had been) that Harley realized it was New Year's Eve. She looked at the digital clock in the front of the van; it read 10:42.

Harley watched as the Joker flung himself out of the vehicle before it had come to a complete stop when they arrived. He marched upstairs wordlessly and she didn't fail to notice the tension in the room reduce significantly as the door of the stairwell shut behind him. She ignored the pairs of eyes that burned into her back as she reluctantly followed. Taking her time climbing the three flights, she opened the door to find his jacket crumpled right next to do the door. She picked it up, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles as she hung it up on the door that led to the closet. Her eyes followed the line of discarded clothing that followed; shoes, socks, suspenders, shirt… it stopped at the opening to the balcony. She silently braced herself for whatever mood he was in, and stepped onto the cold cement.

The wind was blowing slightly; enough to raise goosebumps on her arms and elicit a shiver from her small frame. At the sound of her shuffling feet, he turned his head slightly to examine her. He turned away to look back out at the city. They weren't high up at all, but they had a good view of fireworks that were beginning to be set off. She stood next to him, looking at his face while she leant on the railing. His greasepaint was nearly all gone; she could clearly see most of his pale skin. He chuckled slightly as she jumped when he moved his hand closer to hers. His palm was face up; fingers spread out, obviously inviting Harley to place her petite ones between them. She placed her hand there, shivering again as the warmth of his fingers enveloped hers. He stared at their intertwined hands intently, and she couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking about as he shifted his gaze to her face. They both jumped when a rather large and colorful firework went off not far from where they were.

She yelped slightly as he suddenly brought her closer to him, her face getting shoved into his chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. A tremor went through her, and not for the first time she wondered how his body heat remained at such a high temperature even when it was so cool. He rested his chin atop her head and she could feel him working his jaw. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, Harl," he mumbled, "what's today?" She looked up to see if he was joking, but from the quizzical look on his face, it seemed that he wasn't.

"Well, it's the thirty-first," she said quietly. "New Year's Eve." He hummed in recognition.

"And here I thought Gotham's citizens had finally come to their senses and started blowing up each other," he said with a grin. She laughed, shaking her head into his chest. She shivered again, and he looked down at her. "I guess we can go inside before you uh, freeze your little gymnas_t _butt off." She giggled quietly as he led her inside. He plopped her down on the bed and she took in the parts of his attire he had left on; only a white undershirt and his purple pants. The shirt wasn't tucked in on one side, sitting at a weird angle and revealing a sharp hip bone. He left her sitting alone as he went into the bathroom. She heard the sink running and figured he was removing what little paint he had left on his face.

She repeated his actions as she removed her outfit, sitting back down on the duvet in only her underwear (which wasn't really exciting; she was only wearing white cotton ones) and a thin, spaghetti strapped tank top. She pulled out her pigtails and massaged her sore scalp as her blond hair spilled onto her bare shoulders. Folding her legs Indian-style, she let her head fall back onto the pillow. Groaning as she felt a sore spot, she lifted her shirt and revealed a bruise on her hip. Confused, she thought back on the events of the day and found the answer she was looking for when she remembered the meeting with Maroni. She replayed the scene thoughtfully and was still staring at the mark when she felt the bed shift. She removed her hand and stared at the Joker as lied down next to her. He lifted her shirt, examining the same spot she had been.

"Hurts?" he asked, eyeing the blotch of bluish-purple with great disdain. She removed his hand with her own and shook her head.

"Nope," she replied, not wanting to ruin the mood he was in. He wasn't angry, and she wanted to keep it that way. She felt that for the past few days that she had been treading on thin ice; he hadn't slept in days and along with that had killed five of his men. She didn't want a repeat of the thrown-down-the-stairwell incident. He mirrored her position; sitting in front of her, he crossed his legs. He lay his head on her shoulder, his nose inches from her chest. She felt his breath on her skin as he exhaled deeply. Bringing her hand to his face, she traced his scars that were now devoid of the harsh red coloring that they usually were covered in. She knew that she would never find out how he truly got them; she wasn't entirely sure he knew himself. She could live without knowing; she got to be this close to him, and that was all that really mattered to her.

She was lost in her own thoughts until she felt wetness on her shoulder. She stiffened as she felt another droplet roll down her arm. Looking down, she saw that his eyes were shut and tears were slowly making their way out of them. He didn't make a sound as she shifted; wrapping her legs around his waist, she let him bury his head deeper into her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her as he had earlier on the balcony, only now they resided low on her hips. Pushing her shirt up, he grasped at her bare torso and slowly began to tighten his grip. She ran her fingers through his hair, shivering as more tears began to roll down her shoulder. His hold was tightening even more and her breathing became restricted. She ignored it, not wanting to disturb him; she never knew what he would do after he cried. His fingernails began to dig into her ribs, and she winced as she felt little pains at her sides. She was _really _having trouble breathing. After several laboring moments, she finally gave in.

"J," she whispered; it was all she could muster from within his hold. "J, I can't—" she sucked in another breath, "I can't breathe." She waited for a few moments, and it seemed that he wasn't going to relent. She was about to tell him another time when his grip loosened slightly and she sucked in air greedily. He mumbled something so quietly that she hadn't heard it. Tracing swirling patterns softly onto his back, she whispered, "J?" knowing he would understand what she meant. She barely caught it a second time as he said, "Sorry."

She was taken aback at the statement and expected him to start laughing, but he didn't. She should've known, really; he never did what she expected. She felt his thin fingers nimbly tracing over the spots on her body where his nails had left indentions. She drew in a sharp breath as he ran over one, accidentally pulling back loose skin. She felt his hand moving towards that spot again, and she moved them both so they were lying down on the bed. He was still running his hands over the skin beneath her shirt as he pulled back and looked at her eyes; his were ringed red slightly. They both jumped as several fireworks went off; she pulled her gaze away from his to squint at the clock that now read twelve o'clock.

"Happy New Year," she whispered quietly. He only responded by placing his scarred lips onto hers softly; she responded quickly, snaking her arms around his neck while his still remained under her shirt. He broke the kiss after several seconds, closing his eyes; he was obviously fatigued after several days of no rest. She stuck one of her legs in between his and placed the other over his hip as he pulled her as close to him as he could.

"I love you," she whispered, her lips grazing his neck. She felt his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. He lowered his lips to her ear. She sighed before she could stop herself at what he did.

Without actually speaking the words aloud, he mouthed the phrase onto her ear.

* * *

**A/N: **Okey dokie, I have to say that I rather like this chapter. The ending leaves you people to make up how the rest of the night would have gone. Also, think about this-- this chapter is from Harley's POV, and she interpreted the little message into those three magic little words she's been dying to hear. Did he really say it, or was he just being an ass (as usual) and actually just mouth _elephant_? Well, I'll leave you to decided that. Again, I (obviously) fully back the thought that Harley has seen the Joker cry. One last thing-- I wanna thank my most faithful reviewer, **Heart of Friendship**; she is totally badass. I'm also thanking the rest of you that have reviewed. But, if you've only read this story and not said a thing, I would love it if you just dropped a quick "Great job!" my way; it really helps me get chapters out faster. :D


	6. Conquest

**Warning: The following chapter contains some language, violence, and a mild scene that mentions attempted rape. If you feel that this is not suitable for you to read, then don't.**

* * *

"_And then in the strange way things happen,  
their roles were reversed from that day;  
the hunted became the huntress,  
the hunter became the prey."  
_**-Conquest **by **The White Stripes**

A week had passed since New Year's eve and the tension was high yet again. Harley was sure they would be switching locations soon; although they were under Penguin's protection, three weeks was a long time for them to stay in one spot. She was also taking into consideration the well-known fact that Cobblepot only kept his mouth shut for so long. If someone showed up with enough cash and a little smooth talking, he would spill the beans; that only meant trouble. It took ages for them to find a suitable place to camp. They needed everything from storage areas to working showers and toilets; if they were settling down somewhere, it meant it had all of those things and maybe more. The Penguin's hotel had been perfect for that, but they both knew it was only a matter of time before Gordon or a certain man in a cape would come sniffing. Seven henchman (Harley could only recall the name of about three), the Joker, and Harley were all sat in the lobby, spread around the room on different cream colored couches and chairs.

The Joker rested his elbows on his knees, fingers intertwined as his head rested against them; he was obviously thinking over their situation and no one wanted to interrupt him. No good could come from tearing the Joker away from his thoughts. Harley sat on the cushion next to him, her feet crossed and resting on the clear coffee table that took residence in front of the loveseat on which they sat. Examining her new high heel boots, she turned her head from side to side. She thought she had seen a scuff on the side and she was exceptionally angry about it. _Maybe it's just the lighting?_

He couldn't figure out what to do; should they stay at the hotel for a few more days and just wait for a sign of trouble before leaving? _That's not a good idea. Ozzy very well could already have someone after us at this moment. _He growled, looking over at Harley who was glaring at her boots. She looked ridiculous, turning her head from side to side every three seconds or so. At the same time, she looked so flawless; her form fitting leather pants hugged her hips delightfully. She blew a blonde curl away from her face only to have it land back on her nose. She repeated this action several times before he kicked her feet off of the table.

"What?" she asked, obviously annoyed at being interrupted. He couldn't imagine why; she wasn't doing anything that was relatively productive. He just stared at her. Sighing, she crossed her left leg over her right, making her pants squeak. "I think we should hit the road. You know how old Oswald gets; he'll spill the beans as soon as someone shows the dough." He chewed the inside of his scars.

"I didn't ask you, Har_ley_." She shook her head, smiling.

"Oh, fuck you."

"You would."

Looking away from him, she crossed her arms over her chest. He laughed and cleared his throat, turning to his men.

"I think we should move out," he turned to Harley, looking at her innocently as she gaped at him. "I mean, we all know how Ozzy gets." She only glared at him. He turned away from her, setting his gaze upon the henchman again. "Well? What are you waiting for? The uh, apocalypse? Pack the van with the stuff you need and let's get a move on!" As he yelled, the men jumped into action. One walked one way then swiftly turned around and walked the opposite direction, haste making him forget where he needed to go. Harley looked out the window, staring up at the top of buildings in the dark sky.

"J?" she inquired softly, and he grunted in acknowledgement. "Do you really think it's safe to move out at this time?" He followed her gaze.

"Well uh, we might as well. Because who knows? The Bat may be planning to break in _right now_. It's harder to catch us when we're moving." He smirked mischievously at her and she couldn't help but let her lips slide easily into a grin. He always could get a smile on her face, whether she wanted it or not.

Their bags were packed and they all threw themselves in the van, driving quickly but not fast enough to draw unneeded attention. Their white, windowless van was already suspicious enough. Settling on a bench in the back, Harley tucked her feet underneath her bottom. On the bench opposite the one she was on, The Joker's eyes kept sliding over to her as the van set into motion; she narrowed her eyes at him. As he grinned, for once she knew what was coming. He lunged forward, going to grab her arms. She jumped out of the way, laughing as he grasped air.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that, love," she teased. He growled playfully and she cackled as she only just danced out of his grasp. She turned around, curling her finger towards herself, beckoning him to catch her. He got a hold on her wrist and she swung him around, letting him fall to the floor of the van.

"When did you get so tough, _darling_?" he purred, sending shivers down her spine. His fingers danced up her leg and she froze. Grinning, he tightened his grip and pulled her down on top of him; she was straddling his chest and he kept his firm hold on thighs. He rolled over so she was beneath him and he was looking down at her, his eyes dancing with playfulness.

"Bu_t_," he said, accentuating the t-sound, "not tough _enough_." Her response was digging her high heel into his back. Wincing, he squeezed her leg and she squirmed uncomfortably. He squeezed tighter, eliciting a yelp from her throat.

"Okay, okay!" she squeaked. He raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, _what_?" he prodded.

"I give up!" She nearly yelled. He grinned and let go of her legs, sliding his arms so they were lying on either side of her head. She mocked his facial expression, then kneed him in the stomach. Shocked, he did nothing as she flipped him onto his back. She stood, sticking her boot in the middle of his chest. Cackling loudly, he put his hands above his head.

"You play dirty, Harley Quinn."

Removing her foot, she offered her hand to him and helped him stand as he took it. He brushed himself off as they ignored the confused stares of henchman. She looked up at him after the van came to a stop.

"You already found us another place to stay?" he nodded wordlessly, opening the back of the van and allowing her to exit before him. As she looked up at the building, she immediately recognized it as the building they had looked at before they had stayed at Penguin's place.

"You have got to be kidding me, J!" she said disbelievingly, turning her head to look at his face. "You know that I didn't want to stay here! The showers don't even fucking work!" He rolled his eyes and began walking towards the building. "No, _no_! There is no way!" she yelled at his back. He turned around, eyes blazing. She flinched away from him out of reflex.

"You got a problem with it, Harley? Go find another place that suits your needs!" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls of the alleyway. She glared at him.

"You know what? Maybe I will!" She was absolutely furious with him; maybe it was because he had refused to take her into consideration for what seemed like the umpteenth time that week, or maybe it was just that she hadn't eaten all day. She didn't care as she stormed down the alley with him laughing at her retreating figure.

"You know where we are?" he yelled at her. "We're deep in the Narrows now!" She raised her middle finger over her head at him. "Okay, _honey_!" he seethed. "Try not to get _raped_, please!" He said it with anger, but he truly meant it; he knew she could take care of herself, especially with the hammer that she had in her back pocket. But he also knew that there were all kind of crazy down that side of town.

* * *

She had walked down several alleyways; she didn't know her way around the Narrows that well, but she knew that she could find her way back to where the Joker was staying if she needed. She knew she wasn't going to find anywhere else to stay either; when they got into fights, most of the time she just spewed retorts without even thinking about what she was saying. It was surprisingly quiet, and she was beginning to feel more paranoid at every little crinkle of paper that flew across the dirty concrete. She nearly broke her neck as she turned her head quickly at the sound of a muffled yell. She pressed her back against the filthy bricks of a building she couldn't identify, creeping slowly towards the sound. She peeked around the corner, and her eyes found a woman pushed against the wall. A man about a foot taller than the woman held her there, his hand covering her mouth as he ripped her skirt down the side. The woman's tears began falling more freely as it fell to the ground and she stood in only her underwear.

Harley ground her teeth; men like that made her sick. Even J didn't like rapists; he frequently said that it was the lowest form of crime and it was something that he never had done and never would do. She peered out of the corner farther, and the woman's eyes locked on her own. They widened as Harley raised a finger to her lips, indicating to remain silent. She crept up slowly, making sure her boots made no sounds as she came closer to the man. He was unzipping his pants when Harley pulled the hammer out of her pocket and hit him on the left shoulder. He fell to the ground, but remained conscious. She pulled out a gun from the back of her pants and fixed it on the man. She turned and saw the woman picking her skirt off the ground and attempting to cover herself.

"Want a go at him?" Harley asked the woman, offering the hammer to her. Gaping, she just stared at Harley. "I guess that's a no, then." Harley turned back to the man who was wide-eyed and grasping his shoulder on the ground.

"What'd I do to ya, lady?" he asked, as if he honestly didn't know the answer.

"You didn't do anything to me personally, but," she gestured to the woman, "the sounds she was making were not ones of pleasure, obviously indicating that your contact was not wanted." She grinned as his eyes widened even more in recognition.

"You—you're dat Harley Quinn! The chick who's dating the J—" he looked around worriedly, and Harley rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't worry, he's not here." The man breathed a sigh of relief and Harley shot a bullet that nearly missed his head. "Don't think that means you've been let off, scumbag! I can do a fair bit of damage myself, thank you," she told him as he wrapped his arms around his head, shaking. She glared at him. "You are a disgusting excuse for a human being. You are not worthy to wipe the _dirt _off the bottom of my shoe. You go around and violate women to make up for the steaming pile of _shit_ that is your life." He whimpered and nodded, as if agreeing with her would spare his life.

"You agree? Well, that's good. And I'm gonna help you out. I'm gonna end your miserable existence. But first, I'm gonna let you experience a little something to make up for you hurting this lovely young woman here," she gestured to the woman again, who was now flattening herself against the wall, afraid to move. Harley winked at her. "Hope you enjoy the show, girlie."

She swung the hammer at full force onto the man's left knee cap, and he howled and pain as the bone crunched loudly. She then stomped on it with the heel of her boot, making the man cry out a second time.

"Ooh," Harley said as if it pained her, "I _felt _that."

She repeated the action on his other knee, and the man nearly choked on his own tears. He was coughing violently in between screams and Harley danced in a circle around him. She threw a kick at his side and he rolled over, facing away from her. The man was moaning, begging for her to spare him. He reached his arm out to the woman, and even through the shock on her face she looked disgusted. Harley laughed so loudly that it scratched her throat and hurt her abdomen.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" she yelled between laughs, "You think she's gonna save you? You just tried to _rape _her! _Rape her_! Oh, the irony!" The man only moaned more in response. He was beginning to lose consciousness. "Oh, well that's no fun. Oh well." She shot him in the stomach and turned to the woman, whose face was now a mixture of fear and disgust. Harley wiped the blood off the hammer and stuck it in her back pocket.

"Don't worry, girl," Harley told her, "I didn't save you so I could kill you. Go on, run along. Get a job and move out of this shithole," she advised. The girl ran as fast as she could, nearly tripping as she turned the corner and out of Harley's eyesight. She grinned. "There's my good deed for the month." She turned and pointed her gun as she heard clapping from the dark behind her. She lowered it as she saw a figure clad in purple emerge from the shadows.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as he continued to clap.

"I couldn't let my girl run around the _Narrows_ by herself," he explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, I know you can uh _defend _yourself and all but, like I said when you were flicking me off," he smirked, "I didn't want you to get raped. So what does little Harley do? Find herself a rapist." She laughed and leaned to his arms as he opened them, beckoning her to him. They hugged for several seconds before he put his arm around her shoulders and began guiding her back to the new hideout.

"Ya know," he said, "you didn't have to go looking for a new place. The showers work now." She just looked at him, then playfully punched him in the side. He cackled as they entered the alleyway in which they would make their residence for as long as they needed to.

* * *

**A/N: **I've been itching to write a scene where Harley was violent for the _longest _time. Now that I've finally done it, drop me a review and tell me how I did! Oh, and yes, they're finally out of Penguin's hotel. It was time for them to move on. Lastly, **Conquest **by **The White Stripes **is an unbelievably awesome song and it fits Joker/Harley perfectly. The lyrics match them so well! And it happened to fit in with this chapter quite well because The Hunter would be the rapist here, if you didn't get that. Anyway, please review!


	7. The Mission

"_The streets rose in two perfect waves in the night;  
crashes on my left, and one on my right.  
It's all fire and brimstone, baby, so let's go outside.  
It's all fire and brimstone, baby. I got my brand new pistol, baby."  
_**-The Mission **by **Puscifer**

* * *

"Stop it, Harl." the Joker told her as she paced the room, her body sending off waves of excitement.

"Sorry," she said, stopping her footsteps but still quivering ecstatically. "I'm just so excited—we haven't done anything in _ages_ and I'm just dying to get out there and _blow up_ something."

He nodded, waving away her apology. She was right; they'd been going from hideout to hideout for a little over a month, and they were both starting to get antsy. Their reason for lying low for such a lengthy period of time was that the Joker was _sure _that someone was on their tail; whether it was the Batman or Gordon and his men... he sure wasn't sticking around to find out. However, there were advantages to moving about like they did; they had collected quite a bit of c-4 during their travels, amongst other explosive things. He had to admit, he was feeling excited too.

This little rendezvous had been assembled in approximately five hours. They had a general layout of what was going to happen. The Joker had his henchmen set up explosives in the City Hall; several of these explosives would have various members of Gotham high society attached to them. Harley was going call up GCPD to let them know what was happening and alert them that there were _people_ in danger. They were both positive that once the commissioner got word of _who _was behind the explosives, he would call in the big boys; otherwise known as _the Batman_. If the Joker knew the Dark Knight at all (and oh, did he ever) than he could bet that the pointy-eared one would go and disable the bombs. That_'s _what they wanted him to do, anyway. The bombs were only a distraction; the Joker really wanted to get his hands on the new district attorney. Gotham's crime rate had gone up since the fall of the prestigious Harvey Dent; the new D.A. was corrupt as they got, making deals with the major mob bosses and standing up for the likes of Oswald Cobblepot.

Finishing his final tinkering with a bomb that was going to have the district attorney's dead body strapped onto it, he turned to look at Harley. He chortled as he saw her eyes light up when she realized it was time to get things started. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cell phone that was to be destroyed after use and handed it to her. She squealed, practically jumping up and down as she opened the phone and dialed the number. He opened his arms to her, and she plopped down onto his lap as the phone began to ring. She quickly looked at the screen and pressed the button that put it on speaker.

"911, what's your emergency?" Harley was grinning maniacally as the Joker played with one of her pigtails.

"Wellll," Harley drawled, her voice like honey, "it's not exactly _my _emergency."

"Ma'am, is there an emergency at your location?" the woman sounded like she was on the brink of agitation. Harley giggled and the Joker beamed.

"There is currently an emergency at another location at which I am not present." She took on a professional tone that the Joker recognized from her days as Dr. Quinzel.

"What's the emergency?"

"There are about seven people strapped to bombs that will explode within the next two hours." There was a pause on the line, and the Joker barked out a laugh.

"Before you can ask, this is happening at City Hall," Harley answered for the woman. "Tell Commissioner Gordon the Joker and Harley send their regards." They both laughed loudly as Harley hung up the phone. Squeezing her hip, he kissed her on the cheek as they both stood. Walking out of the house and loading into their van, they obeyed all traffic laws as they made their way over to the district attorney's home. As the vehicle slowed to a stop, the Joker turned to Harley.

"Harls, do ya have your coat?" By this, he meant her old doctor's coat; she carried it wherever they went, knowing it was always useful for disguises. She nodded, slipping it over her costume; she hadn't worn heels today, just Converse. If there was running involved (she was sure there would be), she wasn't going to get caught because her damn heel had broken off. She was about to open the car door when he stopped her.

"What is it, J?" He silently let her pigtails loose, her blonde curls spilling onto her shoulders. She grinned at him, then continued to exit the car and walk to the unfortunate D.A.'s front door. The Joker watched her from the car window, and the morbid thought that frequently visited itself to his brain appeared again; what happened if she were to die today?

He honestly didn't know the answer to that question. The thought kept him up at night (not that he slept all that much anyway) and it puzzled him. Would he miss her? He did get pretty agitated when she decided she was "leaving" him and felt a strange emptiness when her warmth was missing from his bed. While she was unpredictable, she was always a solid figure in his continuously _unstable _life; what would happen when that was suddenly taken away from him? He wasn't naïve enough to think that he'd find another like her; he was well aware that he had been abnormally lucky to find someone that would put up with his _shit _and still like him when the day was done. He continued to observe her as she clubbed the very surprised attorney over the head with a hammer with a slight grin adorning his lips.

"You," he addressed a henchman, and two of them turned to look at him. "Go help Harley get the horrendous excuse for a public figure into the car." The pair scrambled out of the van and took the body from Harley's grip, throwing his unconscious frame unceremoniously into the back. The Joker sneered at the man lying at his feet as Harley took a seat quietly next to him. He frowned as he thought about her again; how was it possible for her to know him so well? He never vocalized much of anything to her, yet at times like these she knew to leave him to his thoughts. He glanced down at her as she picked the varnish off of her fingernails absently, staring at them but not really _seeing _them. Her face was devoid of emotion, not letting him see what she was thinking. He elbowed her softly and she looked up at him, smiling back as he smiled at her. The car turned a bit sharply, catching them both off guard; the Joker caught himself but Harley slid and hit her head on the wall of the van. He laughed as she rubbed her head.

"Ouchie," she said, looking at the interior as if it had caused her great offense while continuing to massage the sore spot on her scalp. Her expression caused him to laugh harder, eliciting a giggle out of her.

"Ah, Harl," he reached out and pulled her closer to him by her wrist, "what would I do without ya?" She laughed.

"Well, for one, you wouldn't have any clean socks."

* * *

He paced back and forth in front of the corpse of the district attorney; Harley sat cross-legged on a crate across from him. She was picking at a hole on the knee of her red jeans, trying to separate the loose threads from the rest of the fabric. He walked over to her, pulling out a knife. As he expected, no fear appeared in her eyes at the sight; he hadn't meant her any harm anyway. He sawed the strings off of her pants, making her smile slightly. A loud noise was heard, making Harley jump and grab onto his wrist tightly. He smirked at her.

"Looks like we have a visitor, Harley." Neither were surprised when Batman emerged from the shadows. His black eyes moved from the Joker's grinning face to Harley's hand which was clasping the Joker's. They then traveled to the body of Mr. Morrison, and his face hardened slightly.

"Give it up, Joker." he growled, his voice rumbling and echoing off the walls of the empty warehouse. "The GCPD is waiting for you outside." The Joker cackled loudly, the sound rebounding off the walls.

"I've heard this before, _Bats_," he told the Dark Knight; he felt Harley's gaze and tried to stop thinking about it. "Do I _ever _give it up?" Batman took a step closer to the Joker.

"Make it easier on yourself," he said, "make it easier on Harleen." When this was said, they both came to the realization that Harley was no longer with them. She had disappeared quickly and silently, but the Joker knew she hadn't left. She wouldn't leave him.

"Ya know," a feminine voice echoed, "I'm right here. You talk about me like I'm not in the room." She giggled and both men looked around the dark space, trying to locate her. The Joker spotted a flash of red to his left, and he immediately turned to see Harley crouched in the opened window.

"I dunno about you fellas," she told them, making brief eye contact with the Joker, "but I'm not stickin' around to see if that explosive really works. You've got--" she checked her watch, "two minutes." With that, she jumped down onto the ground below. The Batman sharply turned his head towards the Joker.

"The lady speaks the uh, truth." Batman shook his head.

"What have you done to her?" It was a question that he had been asked so many times, he wondered exactly what they expected him to answer. He laughed quietly, and he could tell it startled the Batman. Only slightly.

"The joke is," he told him, "that I didn't really do anything. She's the one crime I'm _not _guilty of and let me tell ya, these uh, these _false accusations_? They hurt, Bats." With that last statement he threw a gas bomb, and the air began to fill with green smoke. Following the path that Harley took, he jumped out the window and fell much less gracefully than he was sure Harley did. He searched the alley next to the warehouse, hoping Harley would have at least waited for him to get out.

"Harley?" he whispered loudly. "C'mon, Harl, where'd you wonder off to..." he mumbled to himself. He was surprised to hear someone clear their throat behind him. Turning around, he expected to see Harley; he did, but she wasn't alone.

"Looking for someone?" A man with neatly combed, dark brown hair dressed in a designer suit held Harley around the waist, and the other arm held a knife to her throat. She looked absolutely seething, her eyes ablaze with nothing less than hate. The Joker glared at the man; no one, _no one_, touched _his _Harley.

"I just found her," the Joker told the man, glaring at him in the same way that Harley would be if she was facing him. "Would you mind uh, giving her back?" he asked sarcastically, his arm reaching into one of his many pockets to retrieve his switchblade. The man laughed, and the Joker saw Harley cringe away from him in disgust.

"You don't remember?" the man asked, a grin still plastered on his face. The Joker was undoubtedly confused, although he wasn't going to show it.

"What is it, exactly, that I'm supposed to be remembering?" The Joker was starting to get shifty; Harley had a knife to her throat, and he could clearly see red and blue flashes that unmistakeably belonged to police cars. The man only smiled eerily, backing out of the alley and standing in the middle of what was a circle of GCPD vehicles. The Joker froze. Harley was squirming, making a considerable effort to release the grip of the mystery man that held her captive. She squeaked slightly as the man cut her neck; it was nothing that would cause serious damage, but it made the Joker's blood boil nonetheless. He pulled out a gun, shooting the man in the upper arm that held the knife. The man shrieked; if the police hadn't noticed their presence before, they had now. Cops began to turn their heads as the Joker pulled a knife on the man who was now writhing on the ground. Shaking in fury, the Joker lost control.

"Who the _fuck _do you think you are?" he growled, sending shivers down Harley's spine; not many got him truly _furious_. He kicked the man in the ribcage and he howled in pain. Harley didn't see much of what the Joker began to do to her captor; the police had her around the arms and were escorting her into a car. She did hear screams that would make anyone cringe; whatever he was going through, it _hurt._

The Batman watched from above as the Joker began to saw at every limb he could get his hands on. Neither he nor the Joker knew who this man was, but he had provided Batman with a golden piece of information that he would not soon forget; the man had sent the Joker into a rage. He had sent the Joker into a rage because he had touched _Harley._ He had not missed the pure _fury _that burned in the Joker's eyes when Harley had been scraped by the knife. It was a startling discovery; Harley was quite possibly the only person on the planet that could elicit such emotion from the seemingly inhuman being that was the Joker. He continued to watch as the police dragged a seething Joker off of the man who was, amazingly, still alive. He could see the frightened expressions of those escorting him to the police van; the Joker's face was dark and a mask of nothing but hatred and anger. He looked upward, and Batman swore that he looked straight at him. He leaped onto another building, staring silently as the line of police cars drove off, heading in the direction of Arkham Island.

* * *

**A/N: **Exciting stuff, right? The mystery man, in my head, looks like Matthew Goode. For those of you who are too lazy to go look him up, it's the guy that played Adrian Veidt/Ozymandias in Watchmen. If you still don't know who he is and you're lazy, sorry, I can't help ya. It's been a while, but not too long, right? Things have been a little busy lately. This chapter leaves us with two thoughts: Who IS that guy? aaand Holy hell, the Joker was crazy pissed at him. He's confused about Harley right now, but when he saw some other guy trying to hurt her he was like, "Oh hell no!" and then went badass on him. Hope you liked it, leave a review pretty please! Go! Clicky clicky!


	8. Dead!

"_If life ain't just a joke, then why are we laughing?  
If life ain't just a joke, then why am I dead?"_

-**Dead!** by **My Chemical Romance**

* * *

"Your insomnia's coming back." It wasn't a question. He had known from the first moment he met her that she was one of the unlucky people that battled with it. She didn't meet his eyes, taking a long drag out of her cigarette. He looked around them, checking for orderlies; they weren't supposed to be seeing each other. Under strict instruction of Dr. Arkham, Harley was to be kept away from him at all times. Their attempts to separate them were, quite frankly, pathetic; it was only their third day at Arkham, and they had already bypassed security.

"What does it matter?" she snapped, blowing smoke into the air surrounding them. Her blonde hair was tousled, curls framing her face. The Joker would have though it cute, if not for the dark circles beneath her eyes and the healing wounds that were acquired on the night of their _admittance_. Her defeated appearance bothered him for reasons unknown and it was _irritating _him beyond belief. He clenched and unclenched his fist repeatedly, focusing his tension in his fingers. He knew why she was crabby about the topic; she was aggravated that he barely _ever _slept and he was just fine. The difference between them was that he could sleep if he wanted to, he just elected not to. He knew she would kill for that.

"It matters," he told her, snatching the cigarette from between her fingers and taking a few puffs, "because you get really bitchy. And when we get around to breaking out of here, I'm not dragging your half-conscious ass out the front door." Whether or not he noticed, she did; she was just about the only person who could get him to curse like that. She sneered at him in response. "So what's the problem?"

She mumbled something incomprehensible; he leaned in closer to hear.

"What was that, Harl? I didn't catch it." she shoved his shoulder roughly, knocking the cigarette out of his hand and onto the ground.

"I said that I got used to you sleeping with me, asshole." He laughed loudly and she shushed him, peering suspiciously through the trees that camouflaged them.

"Do you _want _to get sent to isolation?" she whispered vehemently. He threw an arm around her nonchalantly, his eyes scanning the garden.

"We're fine," he assured her, then switched back to the previous subject. "Do you want me to come sleep with you?" She narrowed her eyes dangerously, thinking he was mocking her.

"Shut up."

"I'm serious, Harl. I can sneak in there if you want."

She just stared at him, waiting for the fit of laughter that would undoubtedly follow. It didn't.

"Why?" he growled, agitated.

"Because, Harley, I would like it if you got some fucking sleep." She was looking out at the garden and her eyes widened. Following her gaze, he spotted an orderly walking in their direction.

"Shit," breathed Harley. The Joker swiftly hid behind the massive tree trunk that Harley was resting her back on. He crouched, observing the orderly as he approached Harley.

"You alright, Miss?" the thin man inquired. Harley nodded, looking glum; Harley was a good actress, but the Joker knew her too well to not see through it.

"Yeah," she said sulkily. "Just missing someone." The orderly seemed to recognize her and _who _exactly she was referring to. Looking like he was at a loss for words, he began digging in his pockets. The Joker saw Harley tense automatically, and he read her mind; _He better not pull a needle on her._ They both relaxed as he whipped out a pack of Marlboro's. She gladly accepted, letting the lanky man light it for her before handing it over.

"Thanks," she said sweetly.

"It's no problem."

The Joker waited until the orderly had crossed the courtyard to sit back down next to Harley. She handed the cigarette over to him; one was enough for her. He took it and they sat in silence. Harley stared into space as the Joker watched Jonathan Crane observe Pamela Isely, who was tending to some purple flowers.

"What's with those two?" he asked Harley. She only shrugged.

"HEY!" Both of them turned their heads sharply, seeing several guards beginning to run towards them. "You two aren't allowed to be together!" Several inmates were looking their way, including Jonathan and Pamela.

"Damn," the Joker said as the guards raced closer to them. Before they grabbed his arms and dragged him off, he handed her the cigarette and planted a long kiss on her lips. When they parted, she blew out smoke that he had exhaled into her mouth. She had an amused expression fixed upon her face as they hauled him back to his cell.

"Love ya, honey bunny!" he called from across the courtyard, earning him a hard tug on the arm. Harley could swear she saw a tiny smirk form on Jonathan Crane's lips. She decided that she would have a talk with her old colleague. Walking over to him, she plopped down on the bench he was sitting on.

"Hello, Dr. Quinzel," he said formally.

"It's Harley, Jonathan," she told him. "I haven't been Dr. Quinzel for a long time." He nodded, his eyes scanning over Pamela for the second time.

"Old habits die hard, as they say." Harley's lips curved into a small smile as she observed Dr. Crane's gaze. She threw the cigarette into the grass; Jonathan was distracted by the movement. "I didn't think you smoked, Harleen." she rolled her eyes.

"It's _Harley_," she repeated, "and I don't. It's sort of an on and off thing, I guess." He raised an eyebrow.

"Something you picked up from your _lover_?" he inquired; his tone was not judging nor patronizing, only curious. Jonathan could not deny that he had been drawn to the story that seemed so much like fiction, it could only be real. He had heard the 'love' story more than a few times, each person who was telling it adding a different twist. He was certain he didn't know the true story and he didn't think anyone else did, either; there were only two people who knew the valid tale, and that was the two lovers themselves. She ignored his statement, her feathery hair brushing her cheekbones.

"I see you've met Pammy." she awaited a response and after a few seconds, she turned her head to look at him.

_Did Jonathan Crane just blush?_

He scowled as he saw the grin creeping onto her face.

"So... have you talked to her?" Jonathan was becoming increasingly annoyed with Harley; she sounded like a high school girl getting the latest scoop on the football player who had a crush on the head cheerleader. He supposed dating a grown man who acted like a ten year old didn't help much with that aspect of her personality.

"Of course I have," he said calmly, taking a deep breath to calm his emotions that were slowly bubbling to the surface. If Harley was already driving him mad, what on earth did she do to _the Joker_?

To his surprise, she made no comment; only nodding, a knowing smirk sitting on her pink lips.

"Hey, Pam!" she called to the curvacious woman, waving her over. Jonathan froze, narrowing his eyes at the blonde haired woman. She grinned innocently. The woman known as Ivy tossed her crimson hair over her shoulder, smiling brightly at Harley. She ran over to the bench, taking a seat next to Harley. She was still beaming at her friend, showing off her white teeth.

"I saw that little show earlier," she said slyly. "Nice job. I can't believe security is slacking on you two already." Harley laughed, a tinkling sound.

"I think everyone saw that," she said in between giggles. "Pammy, you've met Jonathan, right?" Her deep green eyes turned to him, regarding him lightly.

"Of course," she said, mimicking his earlier answer. "Dr. Crane, always good to see you."

"Call me Jonathan," he said before he could stop himself. He ignored Harley, who was now grinning like an idiot. Before she could make any comments, a guard stepped in front of them.

"Miss Quinzel," he addressed her, "it's time to go back inside." She regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

"That's _Doctor _Quinzel to you." she got up, regardless. "Jon, Pam." They both nodded at her as she was led back into the main building. She looked back at the two, who were now nervously immersing into conversation. She giggled to herself and the guard looked perturbed. She laughed harder.

* * *

"Well?" The Joker just stared at a spot on the wall behind Jeremiah Arkham, who was looking rather sleep deprived. _Just like Harley. _He shook his head; she just wouldn't leave his brain, would she? She could at least have the decency to leave him alone when she wasn't present!

"You see, Jerry—" The doctor cut him off.

"_Dr. Arkham_," he said for what seemed like the hundredth time. The Joker rolled his eyes.

"Just because Harley and I were on a first name basis..." he trailed off. He mentally smacked himself as he saw that he had given the good doctor something to latch on to.

"Yes, Harleen," Arkham told him. "Commissioner Gordon said you were rather... well, _'beyond merely pissed off'_ was the exact term he used when you were admitted here. He said that a man had tried to attack Harleen, and that's what seemed to trigger the aggression." The Joker only stared at him. "Why is that, do you think?"

"She's mine," he answered simply; it was the reply he used every time they asked. He didn't usually like being predictable, but they just didn't seem to understand; it was worth repeating. Dr. Arkham nearly threw his clipboard across the room.

"She's not a piece of property you can lay claim on!" he said vehemently.

"I never said she was. I just said she was _mine_." Jeremiah sighed.

"Perhaps you will feel more cooperative tomorrow?" It had even sounded stupid in his mind. The Joker obviously felt the same way, only laughing.

"Perhaps," he said, mocking him. Dr. Arkham walked to the door, but turned when the Joker addressed him. "Ya know," he said, "I liked my old doctor _way_ better." An idea formed in Dr. Arkham's brain.

"What would you say if I told you I could arrange a meeting between the two of you?" Jeremiah swore he saw something shift behind the Joker's eyes, but it was gone as soon as it had come.

"I would say uh, bull_shit_, Doc." _Not on your terms, anyway. _Arkham's lips fell into a firm line as he turned around and walked out of the room.

* * *

Harley tenderly examined a bruise on her arm; she was feeling particularly depressed today. Maybe it was because Dr. Leland had placed their session in her old office; maybe it was because the woman had told her that the Joker had only caused her pain. She knew this wasn't true, but she couldn't help but call to front the memories that weren't exactly _pleasant._ After all, he had nearly given her a concussion a few weeks earlier and because of their fight she had stabbed herself in the leg. She also couldn't ignore the fact that she was in a _mental institution _because of him. Because she loved him. She had voiced this to Leland, but the doctor had only scoffed. She had said it was more of an obsession with an extreme personality and that the chances of a psychopath loving anyone was slim to none. Of course, she would say that; it was obvious to Harley that she had never loved anyone other than her parents. If she had, she would understand that love defied written law and all other odds; even Shakespeare had attested to _that_.

A feeling of nostalgia had washed over her as she had walked into that old office; she clearly remembered reviewing all of the Joker's files for hours on end behind the mahogany desk, police reports scattered as far as the eye could see. The whole thing had surprisingly left her emotionally unstable; she had been thinking of different memories ever since, tears pricking her eyes every few minutes. She knew it was useless to even _try _to sleep; she would only toss and turn for the whole night. She punched herself on the bruise when she felt tears arising again; she would _not _cry. She was not going to wallow in self-pity tonight.

She hit her bruise again, aggravated at herself for letting the tears appear in the first place. She was so concentrated on the depths of her mind that she didn't hear the door slowly creak open. The Joker stepped in silently, regarding Harley with a confused look on his face. She was staring into space and he could see tears about spill down her cheeks. He cleared his throat quietly and her head slowly turned to look at him. As she recognized his bare face, the tears escaped. He didn't bother to ask what was wrong, though it irked him; he would pry later. He sat next to her on the cot, wrapping his arm around her as she buried her face into his chest. He was incredibly glad that she hadn't started sobbing; Harley never had been that kind of person. Stroking her hair, he unconsciously untangled the long strands.

"C'mon, Harl," he said into her hair, "you need sleep." She pulled back and stared at him angrily.

"You just came in here because I need _sleep_?" He shrugged.

"Yeah." She couldn't help but laugh at the expression on his face.

He lay with her until he felt her breathing slow and he was positive that she was deep in slumber. If he didn't leave soon, the guards would notice and they would _both _get thrown into isolation. He slowly got up, cringing when the mattress creaked and Harley shifted. Continuing his movement, he was soon on his feet beside her bed. Leaning down, he kissed her softly on the lips and rubbed her cheekbone.

"I'll get us outta here soon, Harl."

As he looked back at her sleeping form, he felt that anger rise in his stomach; he surprised himself when he realized it wasn't directed at _her. _He remembered the man's face that had attacked her. He would find him and finish the job. That man would only get away if he was dead.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey, kids! So I know that I said I was going to have it up by the end of the week and I didn't. Sorry about that, but some crazy stuff went on in the past week and I am not going to deny that this was the last thing I was thinking about. The end was very un-Joker like, I know. Harley is bringing out the softie in him. Don't fret, however, his usual self will be back in a jiffy; Harley's just got him all topsy-turvy at the moment. I was going to have this up on January 22 in honor of Heath (2 years, can ya believe that?), but it obviously didn't happen. It's up now, anywho. I don't know when the next bit is gonna be up because I'm starting a screenplay that will hopefully be up as a youtube series in the coming months and I know it's going to take _a lot _of my time. With all that said, thanks for reading and please review!


	9. Gold Dust Woman

"_Did she make you cry,  
make you break down,  
shatter your illusions of love?"  
_-**Gold Dust Woman **by **Fleetwood Mac**

* * *

Edward Nigma sat on the grimy floor, facing the small T.V. In his one bedroom apartment. The place was shabby, no one could deny that; the wallpaper was peeling off of the walls and there were spots where mildew was taking shelter all over the bathroom. For now, however, it fit his needs. He was trying to pay off his school loans, not to mention the bills. He hadn't had much money to begin with, but not long after his twenty-second birthday he had become addicted to heroin. He had met some shady characters at Gotham University (they were the only ones he really fit in with), each of them involved with a specific poison of choice. He hadn't meant for things to get out of hand; he had always been a smoker, ever since he hit his senior year in high school. One of the guys had convinced him to try pot, and it had all gone downhill from there. Before he knew it his life was spiraling downward and he was so broke he could only pay the bills by the skin of his teeth, even with the pay of a not-so-bad job.

He tried quitting cold turkey, but that didn't pan out so well. He knew he needed help but rehab was much too expensive. It was sheer luck that his father (the emotionless bastard that he was) actually met _some _good people in his life. He contacted his dear old dad's friend, Dr. Leslie Thompkins. It had been his last resort, and she had willingly admitted him into her drug rehab clinic for free. He promised that he would pay her back when he had finished his treatment, but she refused to take a penny from him. He wasn't going to argue with that.

However, not all was well. He had ditched most of his friends, not wanting to get involved with any life destroying substances again; now he was just alone. He hadn't been to work in weeks, and he had sent no notice to anyone at the office. It was no surprise to him that when he called his boss, he was almost immediately fired. The man was a bastard anyway. He was always telling Edward what he was doing wrong, how his ideas were too far-out to be taken seriously. There were more than a handful of times that Edward had wanted to tell him to take the stick out of his ass and that he was getting too old to understand that his "far-out" ideas were in touch with modern society. Anger boiled up inside of him; while he didn't enjoy the job _that _much, he hated the man for ignoring his brilliance. Just like his father did. He clenched his fists as his pulse began to race, but shook his head and began to calm himself down. His father was gone and he no longer had to deal with John Moore.

His eyes flickered back to the T.V., on which GCN was playing a video recorded on a cell phone of the Joker viciously carving up a man. The clip had been played hundreds of times in the last three days; by this time, Edward knew every move the Joker made. He could probably replicate his exact movements on a random passerby; he always had been good with a knife. The camera zoomed in on the victim, and the poor quality of the video blurred the face of the Joker's prey. As the clip replayed again, Edward stumbled over his long, thin legs and nearly pressed his face onto the T.V. He pushed his long hair haphazardly behind his ears to get a better look at the man; that couldn't be him. There was no way.

"The victim has surprisingly lived through the traumatizing ordeal," the blonde reporter told the camera, "and is currently being taken care of at the temporary home of Gotham General Hospital. Commissioner Gordon revealed to the press yesterday morning that the Joker was actually provoked to attack..." Edward stopped listening. What reason could John Moore have possibly given the Joker to attack him? His boss had never seemed like a particularly shady character, other than being a little creepy. And if he was involved with the _Joker_ of all people, why the hell did Edward get fired for missing work to go to rehab? That hardly seemed fair; at least he wasn't hanging around a mass murderer.

His conscience nagged at him. He _had _been hanging out with people whose records weren't so clean. He had taken part in one or two acts where the receiving end didn't exactly get off easy. Not to mention he had stabbed his father, although it wasn't entirely his fault; he only did it in self-defense.

_Yeah, _his conscience told him, _like you wouldn't have killed that son of a bitch anyway. _

Some conscience he had.

He wanted answers. He was going to get them.

Putting on his nearly destroyed sneakers and grabbing his deep green sweatshirt, he slammed the front door on the way out.

John Moore would be receiving a surprise visit.

* * *

Harley sighed as she stood in the line of inmates waiting to receive the so-called "food" they were serving for lunch. It had her feeling like she was back in high school, waiting in the lunch line in hopes of getting a half-decent meal. Pamela Isely stood behind her, tapping her foot impatiently. As the line finally lurched forward, Harley ignored the unnerving stare from the creepy inmate in front of her. _Schizophrenic, _she automatically labeled him after seeing his skittish mannerisms and rapid eye movement.

Pam followed her to an empty table and automatically questioned her about the news report that had shown on T.V. That morning.

"So..." she started off, and Harley knew what she was going to ask. "Your man was provoked, huh?" Harley nodded slightly, dropping her fork into the watery mashed potatoes. "Mind telling me why exactly that was, or have you been sworn to secrecy?" Harley let a small grin adorn her lips.

"The guy had a hold of me, Pam," she told her friend, the smile melting off her face as quickly as it had appeared. "He had a knife to my throat and everything. And, well... you know how he gets." Pam's eyes were concerned, but she didn't interrogate Harley viciously.

"Who was he?" she asked calmly, her eyes searching Harley's face. Harley shrugged.

"I don't know," she said, "I never saw his face. He grabbed me from behind before I even heard him coming, the sneaky son of a bitch," she continued, her voice taking on a venomous tone. If there was one thing Harley hated, it was being overpowered.

"Who would want to attack you, though?" Pam asked. "I mean, sure, there are people out for the Joker, but no one is stupid enough to go after you to get to him." Harley nodded in agreement. "Made any enemies lately, besides most of the general public?" Harley laughed at that.

"Not that I know of," she replied, a slight grin still on her face. "The only thing I can think of is ex-boyfriends, but I don't think I ever had any that cared enough to go after me right in front of J."

"Not one?" the redhead inquired. "Come on, Harl, at least one guy had to obsess over you..." she trailed off as her eyes followed Johnathan Crane across the cafeteria. Harley smiled.

"Speaking of obsessing over someone," she said and Pam blushed lightly. "How goes things with Dr. Crane?"

"It's nothing, Harley," she assured her, "we're just friends."

"Uh huh," Harley said, sounding unconvinced. "And you only like plants a little bit." Emerald eyes glared at her. She looked away from Pam as green curls caught her eye. Knowing the look on Harley's face, Pamela rolled her eyes.

"Go on," she told the blonde. Harley smiled cheekily.

"Duty calls, babe," she blew her a kiss. "Go cozy up with Crane."

She ignored the glare from Pam and stealthily moved across the room, entering the dark, tight corner between the wall and where the kitchen's doors protruded; where the Joker had disappeared into. Cold fingers grabbed onto her wrist and she was pulled against a tall figure.

"We're going," he told her roughly.

"What?" she could hear him exhale loudly.

"We're leaving. Today." Relief washed over her. As much as she loved seeing Pam, she could really use a proper shower and a proper bed. Not to mention not having to sneak around all the time.

"When?"

"Right now." He pushed a duffel bag against her hip. "All of our stuff is in here. We're just gonna leave quickly and quietly, right? I know we both wanna mess around with some of the guards, but uh, frankly, it's not worth it." She nodded quickly. Backing out of the space, she stuck her head out briefly to locate all the guards. They had their backs to her, watching the remaining inmates get their food. She pulled his wrist and they quickly entered the kitchen.

Dodging several workers, they reached the back door. Their entrance to freedom.

Harley pushed the door, finding that it wasn't even locked.

"Thank god for crappy, government funded institutions," she praised. The Joker pushed her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, get a move on, Harl."

After walking down several flights of stairs, they reached the parking garage.

"So what exactly is our plan for kicking this popsicle stand?" The Joker seemed puzzled by the question, but then reached into his pocket. In his hand were the keys to a Mercedes Benz. She cackled.

"Seriously? Leland's?" They both laughed as they walked towards the car. "I'm guessing you paid off the security at the front gate?" He nodded, starting the ignition. As they drove off, she looked at his unpainted face.

"I love you, J," she told him.

He grunted.

* * *

John Moore scowled at the T.V. From his hospital bed, glaring at the bleach blonde news reporter.

"The victim has surprisingly lived through the traumatizing ordeal and is currently being taken care of at the temporary home of Gotham General Hospital."

_Oh yes, just casually throw out my location to the entirety of Gotham! It's not like I have a mass-murdering psychopath out to get me or anything like that, _he thought, seething.

"Commissioner Gordon revealed to the press yesterday morning that the Joker was actually provoked to attack the man, though he was adamant in saying that he was not defending the criminal's actions. At this time, the GCPD refuses to give the name of the victim for privacy reasons. Back to you, Mike."

John had to admit to himself that he was a _bit _of an idiot to have attacked the Joker's girlfriend. Not only did he do that, he did it right in front of the Joker. He couldn't help himself, though. Harleen was just so beautiful. Her pale skin radiated while her golden hair glimmered in the sun. She was heaven's art in its truest form; no one could deny that. He had first met her when she was an intern at Gotham General. She was with a group of psychiatrists who worked there, performing psych evaluations on patients. He was required to get one every three years, and when she had performed a series of tests and questions he could barely pay attention. Her baby blues poured into his, and he was stuck.

He found every reason he could to go to Gotham General; whether there was a sick coworker or family member, he would pay them a visit just to catch a glimpse of the angel that was Harleen Quinzel. Before he even realized it, he had become obsessed. He had looked up her apartment building and driven past it several times to see if she was walking in. Then, every Friday night he began to sit on the corner in his car, watching as she laughed and went out with friends. One day, she would be his. One day, he would just walk up to her and take her for himself. One day.

But then her internship was over.

She moved from her apartment. Through several different people, he eventually found out that she was working at Arkham Asylum. He couldn't find too many reasons to go there (not that he even _wanted _to). Why such an alluring woman would want to work with filthy degenerates in the Narrows was beyond him.

And then he watched in horror on the news that she had broken _him_ out of Arkham. They were allegedly "romantically involved". The angel of his dreams was romantically involved with a psychopathic clown.

It had broken him. Shattered him. He had drunk himself into oblivion that night.

He just couldn't have it; couldn't bear the fact that this immaculate being _loved _that inhuman terrorist. It made his blood boil to see her getting thrown into Arkham because of her "lover". She was supposed to be _his. _A nurse with mousy brown hair wearing blue scrubs shook him from his thoughts.

"You have a visitor, Mr. Moore." He sighed agitatedly, waving his hand as a signal to let them in. A tall, gangly man (barely a man, he couldn't have been over twenty-four) with red-tinted hair that nearly reached his shoulders stood in front of the bed. His slim torso was covered by a dark green sweatshirt, and thin legs adorned with skinny jeans that were torn at the bottom. He tucked hair behind his ears, then shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Moore," he said, his voice deep. "You're doing better than I expected."

"Nigma," he replied, eying Edward's attire with distaste. "Rehab has done so much for you, it seems. Looks like you're really getting your life back together." Edward frowned.

"Well, at least I didn't get attacked by a psychopath in a clown suit," he said snidely, eying the various bandages on John's body. "Anyway, I didn't come in hear to verbally spar with you. I came to see if you were alright, because I'm actually a good person," he said sarcastically, handing the older man a diet soda.

"You remember my favorite soda? What a good employee," he told him mockingly, opening the small bottle and nearly drinking half of it. "Too bad you're not on the payroll anymore." Edward grinned slightly, a dimple appearing on his left cheek. He watched as John drank the rest of the bottle. The man squinted at the bottom of the now clear bottle, seeing a tiny green question mark at the bottom.

"Riddle me this, John," Edward said, and the man looked up at him questioningly as he began taking sharp breaths. "What kind of son does every parent fear?" Moore's eyes rolled back into his head as he fell into unconsciousness. Edward laughed quietly.

"Given up? The answer is _poison,_ Mr. Moore," he mocked Moore's now convulsing body. He cackled, taking out a can of green spray paint from the pouch in his sweatshirt. He sprayed a large question mark above the bed. Walking out to the nurse's station, he stopped to talk to the nurse that had brought him in.

"I think he's having a bad dream, Cherie," he said, using her name and the most charming tone he could muster. "But I'm not quite sure. Maybe you should have a look at him?" The nurse looked at the monitor that surveyed the patient's stats.

"I think it might just be a dream," she said, smiling flirtatiously at him. "It happens all the time." He grinned widely at her.

"Have a good day, Cherie," he told her, waving as he walked off. She giggled and he rolled his eyes as he turned away. As he walked to his used, beaten up car, he broke into a grin that could have split his face in two.

"That'll show you what an 'immature twenty-five year old' can do."

He smirked as he heard police sirens in the distance.

* * *

**A/N:** Whooo, it feels good to be back! Yeah, I know there's not a lot of Joker _or _Harley in this one. The breakout scene was brief, because quite frankly, the Joker in my head just wanted to get the hell out of there. Plus, I've got plans a-brewin' for future chappies, ones that do not take place in Arkham. So I just needed them out. Yes, I have decided to invest in lil' ole Eddie. This story is going to have a lot more character appearances soon; don't worry, I'm not leaving Pammie and Jon in Arkham; they're gonna join in on the party soon, too. Let's just say the B-Man's gonna have a rough week. Anyway, if you can't really grasp my version of the Riddler, I have based his appearance off of Ryan Donowho. Also, the riddle was actually used in the viral marketing of Batman: Arkham Asylum. Believe me, I would know. I spent my entire summer in front of the computer participating in that bundle of crazy. Hope you enjoy, and as always, please review!


	10. Best of You

"_I needed somewhere to hang my head  
__without your noose."  
_**-Best of You **by **Foo Fighters**

* * *

Harley rested her head on the edge of the cool, porcelain bathtub. She felt dizzy, her face wet with a mixture of tears and mascara. Laughing humorlessly, she rolled her eyes at herself.

_Classic abuse scene. Mascara runs down the shaking blonde's face as she awaits what is sure to be another painful mood swing from the love of her life. Quiet on the set._

She couldn't help but chuckle at how pathetic she must look. The sound died in her throat, turning into a moan (or was it a sob?). She couldn't tell the difference these days. He was the only one who could get her worked up in the way that he did. When she met him, it had been years since she had cried; even when her mother died, she hadn't shed a single tear. He could reduce her into a puddle of sniffles and sobs with just a few words. Yet, he was her everything, the love of her life.

Oh, and how she hated him.

She wasn't quite sure what she had done; but then again, she never was. Most of the time, she wasn't involved in any way. He just had a lot of pent-up feelings, and she was the only one who was there when he finally let go. She wasn't blind, though; she wasn't some little girl who refused to see that the man she was with abused her beyond a normal love pat. She fought back and she got out. Only an idiot would remain in the room with an absolutely seething Joker; she loved him, but she also knew when he wasn't going to hold back on her. He rarely did. He figured she wouldn't leave, and he was right. She would go, but she would never _leave_. Both of them understood that.

Her nose began to tickle and she quickly squeezed her nostrils down with her thumb and forefinger, hoping to stop the sneeze before it came. Despite her attempts, her body shook as the sneeze racked her frame. She groaned as her entire body throbbed. She stared at her bruising knuckles while her other arm held her middle. With a firm look on her face, she struggled to stand on the cold marble floor. She came to a stop in front of the mirror, examining her face; she was a wreck. Black streaks stained her pale face and her blue eyes were rimmed with red. Purple was forming on her right cheekbone and there were angry, red marks around her neck. She winced as she traced a scratch just below her ear. She stiffened as a pair of strong hands grabbed her waist gently. She glared at the man in the mirror.

"Harley," the Joker hummed quietly, rubbing circles on her bruised hips. Wincing, she broke away from his grip and walked out of the bathroom. He followed her onto the king-sized bed that was covered in silk sheets. As he lowered himself next to her, he stared at her nearly-bare body that was adorned with the natural artwork he had created on her; his canvas. She looked away from him, a golden curl falling from its place and falling onto her high cheekbone. He raised his hand to brush it away, and she did something that she rarely ever did; she pushed it away, leaving him frozen. He reached for her small fingers with his slender ones, but she pulled back silently. A sinking feeling formed in his chest, slowly moving to his stomach. He spoke to refrain from punching himself in the offending area.

"Harley," he repeated, his voice rumbling in his chest. He watched in what seemed like slow motion as a few tears fell in rivulets down her pallid skin. It was the last straw for her when he reached for her arm again.

"Don't!" she screeched. He didn't flinch, but his eyes showed a flicker of surprise. Misunderstanding then blossomed as she rose from the mattress and accidentally knocked over the lamp on the side of the bed. A flash of light and a 'pop' resounded as the light bulb shattered on the wooden floor. They both stared at the shards of glass that seemed to glitter like stars in the light coming from the window. Taking the lamp in her hands, she grasped it tightly before flinging it across the room. It made a loud crash landing as it collided with a mirror on the antique vanity that resided there. The mirror shattered, mimicking the earlier glass of the light bulb. This seemed to wake the Joker out of his trance; getting up swiftly, he grabbed Harley by her upper arms and shook her. She shoved him as hard as she could and he stumbled backward in surprise, falling on the shattered mirror and cutting his forearm that he used to break his fall. He pulled her ankle, making her knee crash into the now bloody shards of glass on the floor, and she cried out. Still holding the appendage, he dragged her body towards his and attempted to hold her flailing limbs still.

"No, no, no!" She said with each blow delivered to his chest. He had received worse, but he couldn't deny the strength the small gymnast had in her. The spot where she repeatedly beat him was beginning to get sore, and he squeezed her so tightly that she squeaked.

"_Stop. It._" His harsh tone silenced her, and he soon felt a tremor rack her frame. She sobbed louder as he began to stroke her hair. Standing up, he brought her with him onto the bed and rested in a sitting position with Harley in his lap, his hand on her injured knee. "C'mon, Harls," he whispered in her ear. She hiccuped, her shoulder hitting his already bruised jaw. Without thinking, he squeezed her knee and felt warm blood pool beneath his fingers. She muffled an agitated scream before grabbing a handful of skin covering his ribs and squeezing. Her nails dug in sharply and he grunted in pain, relenting his iron grip on her. She fled his arms quickly, running as fast as she could with the injured knee out the door. He got up, trying follow her but limping as glass cut the bottoms of his feet. Before he could catch her, he heard the front door slam shut. It would only be more trouble if he went after her, now. He leaned his forehead on the door, sighing deeply. He just couldn't seem to get rid of that _fucking _sinking feeling. Looking around, he drank in the completely empty room.

He'd forgotten what it felt like to be alone.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey, I know it's short. Only ten words are actually spoken in this scene, but it's all very dramatic, isn't it? I think you guys knew the angst was building up between them... or at least, I did. HAH. But anyway, more on Eddie, Harley, and the Joker in the next chapter. I guarantee that it will be much longer than this. In fact, it's actually going to be split into two different ones! Fun stuff! One last thing before my usual goodbye, there were two songs that inspired me to write this scene: one was **A Day Like Today **by **Tom McRae**. Yes, I do have another Joker/Harley one-shot named after the song. The other is **Psychobabble **by **Frou Frou**. Both very good songs, highly recommended. Hope you liked it and, as always, please review!


	11. One of THOSE Nights, Part 1

"_I've been let loose and now I'm crawling up the walls;  
__word is I got away and now I must be caught."  
_**-One of THOSE Nights **by **The Cab**

* * *

The Joker's eyes burned as he looked at the television unblinkingly. He had tried to sleep; he knew he needed it. When he was in Arkham he hadn't slept a wink, and then when he and Harley found their new hideout they got into a horrific fight that had ended with them both injured and her walking out the door. It had left him feeling unbelievably exhausted, but when he laid down in the bed, it felt cold. He figured it was only the silk and if he stayed there for a while his body heat would warm the smooth sheets. Thirty minutes later, he still felt cold. He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before his eyes finally started to droop and he felt his body begin to shut down. He smiled slightly, reaching his hand out to pull Harley towards him. He grabbed air.

His eyes opened and he sighed loudly as he realized his mistake.

Had it really been this hard to sleep before she came along?

He pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw brightly colored specks flying across his eyelids. Getting up swiftly, he walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He grabbed a plastic bowl that was covered in aluminum foil; it looked like lasagna. He sniffed, shrugging, and raided the drawers for utensils. Grabbing a fork, he sat on the loveseat and turned on the T.V. Besides being cold (he was too lazy to heat it up), the lasagna was actually quite delicious. The owners of the house were wealthy people, but this was only their holiday home. Why anyone would have a holiday home in Gotham City, the Joker had no idea, but he was glad they did. The place was nice, and as they had only gone home the night before, they had left some food behind. He munched on the Italian dish as he flicked through the channels, finding nothing of interest to watch. He settled on a children's station that was playing adult cartoons for the night. He licked the fork clean of sauce. He grinned as he remembered how disastrous it was when Harley tried to make lasagna; the oven was covered in melted cheese and red sauce. The smile dropped quickly as he realized he was thinking of her. _Again_.

The inability to keep his mind away from her worried him; had he really gotten so used to having her around that he couldn't function properly without her for more than a few hours? He turned the T.V. Louder, drowning out the sound of her tinkling laugh and sat close to the screen so his mind was forced to see the color there and not her dimples and blue eyes. He switched to the new channel, hoping some story about destruction would temporarily distract him from the blonde-haired siren. A picture taken in a hospital room appeared on the screen; it was showing the wall next to the bed, with a large green question mark spray painted on it's original white coating.

"Mr. John Moore, the victim, was in the hospital after being assaulted by the criminal known as the Joker. Doctors believe he was poisoned by an orange flavored soda that was laced with cyanide. The bottle was found next to the body, the same green question mark sitting in the bottom. The killer, now being called 'The Riddler' by some, is said to still be at large. He is described as being about six feet tall with shoulder length, red-brown hair. The night of the crime he was wearing dark jeans and a baggy, emerald sweatshirt. If you have seen this man or know anything about this crime, call the police immediately. This is Josh Johnson reporting live from Criba Building, back to you, Marc."

The Joker's eyebrows knitted together. He was a bit angry that the man _he_ wanted to kill had already been killed, but there was no use getting upset about it; he wanted the man dead, and now he was. It just saved him a trip, really. But who was 'The Riddler'? It can't have been a business oriented murder; the man hadn't even been that high up in his business, the news had told him. Obviously his murderer wanted him dead for his or her own personal reasons. Regardless, he wanted to drop by a word of thanks to whoever it was; they saved him time to do more important things.

_Like get Harley back._

He glared at his reflection in the television screen.

* * *

Edward laughed at the news report, but was not truly mirthful at its contents; this meant that the police had picked up the bottle that had _his _fingerprints on it. He should have picked it up as he was leaving, but he had been too high on success and adrenaline at the time to think everything through. Soon, he knew, they would have his true alias. He needed to move, and he needed to do it fast. Abruptly cutting off the laughter, he bolted into his bedroom and threw open the closet doors. Throwing a moderately sized duffle bag onto the floor, he grabbed necessary clothing and other toiletries that would be of use to him while he was on the run. He didn't know exactly where he was going to go, but he knew he couldn't stay where he was.

"Where is it, where is it..." he muttered to himself, throwing t-shirts about the room like confetti. He smiled in relief as his fingers brushed cool, smooth material. The bright emerald green suit jacket shocked his retinas compared to the walls, which were painted a dull gray. The jacket had been specifically tailored for him a few years ago when he had participated in a friend's wedding. It had been nature-themed, and all the men were asked to wear neutral colors. He had taken a great liking to the jacket ever since, and the green was one of the few colors that didn't clash horribly with his hair. Figuring it would be best not to wear the jacket in the Narrows, he neatly folded it and placed it at the bottom of the bag, letting the more casual and less expensive clothes hide it. As he finished packing, he zipped the bag up and looked around the room. He couldn't just leave all these things with his fingerprints _everywhere_; who knows what else they would find? He knew that once the word was out that Edward Nigma was the culprit of the murder, his landlord would find him immediately. Although he would have no use of anything in the tiny apartment, he would feel aggravated if the police rummaged through all of his belongings. He decided to make a quick trip to the convenience store before finishing the job.

Grabbing his wallet, he left the apartment and headed to the small, family-run store next to the complex. Walking straight up to the counter, he grabbed a bag of chips and a few lighters underneath an advertisement that read "5 for 25 cents". Surveying the packs of cigarettes behind the cashier, he frowned at the only two packs left.

"Is that all you've got?" The burly man eyed him up and down, then nodded. Edward sighed. "I guess I'll take three packs of those, then," he requested, gesturing to the brand he wished to purchase. The man grinned slightly, grabbing three of black, fuchsia-lined packs.

"Is that all you need, man?" Edward knew the use of _man _was being used mockingly; he had just bought the most womanly pack of cigarettes he could possibly get his hands on, but he really didn't care. Nicotine was nicotine. He nodded, forking out the amount that the little green numbers displayed to him. As he walked out the door, he lit up one of his new purchases. He inhaled smoke, sighing at the calm feeling that entered his body just as the smoke entered his lungs. He dropped his wallet as he failed an attempt at putting it back in his pocket. Before he could reach down to get it, long, pale fingers picked it up first.

Edward was hesitant to look up; he was in the Narrows, and that meant it could either be a crazy person or a _murderous _crazy person. His eyes slowly trailed up the arm and into the face of the unknown person. A baseball cap was pulled down low over the man's face, blonde-ish curly hair peaking out at the nape of his neck. The man slowly looked up at Edward, smiling.

And boy, was it the biggest smile Edward had _ever _seen.

He wasn't stupid; even without the make-up, he immediately recognized the man as the Joker. He wasn't quite sure what to say when the mass-murderer offered him his wallet, almost like a sign of peace.

"You uh, you dropped this," the Joker told him, and Edward slowly took the wallet from his fingers. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be Edward Nigma, would ya?" Edward's eyes widened a considerable amount.

"Y-yeah, that's me," he replied, having trouble not stuttering as he spoke. The Joker grinned.

"Well, that's great!" he said, clapping his hands together. A puzzled look crossed Edward's face.

"It is?"

"It is! A friend of mine told me you purchased some cyanide the other day. Now, if GCN is accurate in their descriptions, I'd say that your red-brown, shoulder-length hair and emerald green sweatshirt would make you the suspect murderer of Mr. John Moore." Edward stared at him, placing one foot behind him in case he needed to make a run for it; the Joker caught this and chuckled.

"No, no! I'm not here to chastise you for it! I mean, I'm one to talk, right? No, of course not... I'm actually here to thank you."

"Thank me?" Edward questioned, looking incredulously at the criminal before him. "What do you need to thank _me _for?"

"Well," he replied, throwing an arm out for dramatic emphasis, "I'm assuming that you actually _knew _why Mr. Moore was in the hospital. It was because of me, yes?" At Edward's reluctant nod, he continued. "Yes! So, you surely must have come to the conclusion that I wanted him dead, yes?"

"I actually hadn't thought about it much, to be honest," he said, taking another puff from the cigarette that he had been neglecting.

"Well, I did. And now, you've saved me a trip. So I thought I should thank you. In fact, I feel as if I owe you a... uh, a favor!" Edward became increasingly more comfortable around the Joker, now seeing that he was not there to hurt him.

"You don't really owe me any favors. Again, me being honest, I did it for myself," he said bluntly. The Joker laughed, patting his shoulder.

"I like the honesty, I do. I _insist _you let me do you this favor, though. Because," he said, using Edward's words, "me being honest, it will do _both _of us a favor. As much as I like ya, Eddie, I wouldn't be doing this if there wasn't something in it for _me._"

"Understandable," Edward said, nodding as he inhaled smoke from the tiny stub that was left of the cigarette. Throwing it to the ground and stepping on it, he turned his eyes back to the Joker. "In this town, every man for his own."

"Now you're getting it," the Joker said. "My favor is a job for you. I'm assuming you weren't going to stay where you're staying now?" Edward grinned slightly.

"I was actually going to uh... well, I was actually going to burn it down." The Joker laughed loudly.

"Now we're talking! I've got gasoline in the back of the car, if you haven't already got some of your own."

"That would actually help a lot. And after that, you'll give me this 'job'?"

"You got it, Eddie. It's not much of a job, but I think it's better than hiding out in the streets somewhere where Gordy and the team will surely find your ass by tomorrow morning."

After fully dousing his apartment in gasoline, Edward lit a cigarette and dropped it in the doorway. Flames immediately erupted throughout the room, heat blazing against the two criminals' faces. They casually walked into the parking lot where the Joker had parked his van. Pulling out onto the street with the smoke behind them, the Joker addressed Edward.

"We've gotta make a quick stop before we do anything else," he said, taking a turn onto a dimly lit street. Edward didn't know if it was the lack of sleep in the past two days, but everything around him looked extremely familiar. His stomach sank quickly as he identified what it was. Fumbling with one of the packs of cigarettes, he pulled one out and lit it hastily. The Joker glanced at him from the driver's seat curiously.

"Somethin' wrong, Eddie?" Edward inhaled greedily and exhaled as slowly as possible.

"I, uh—well, I haven't been doing so great the past year. No, this isn't a sob story—" he said at the Joker's rolling eyes. "You meet crazy people when you go to college, especially college in Gotham. Got caught up in the wrong kind of crazy, and basically put me in the position I am now."

"What, the position of going on a random murderous rampage and then burning down an apartment complex with the most wanted man in Gotham?"

"Yeah," Edward said, grinning slightly despite himself, "pretty much."

"So what uh, what exactly were you caught up in?"

"Drugs. Heroin, to be exact."

"You know that stuff can kill you?" Edward rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, that's why I went to rehab."

"Well," the Joker said, laughing maniacally, "it obviously did you _a lot _of good. You got out, still addicted to something," he paused, gesturing to the cigarette in his hand, "and then go off and kill somebody. This place sounds better than Arkham. But then again, Arkham has all the uh, _fun _doctors to play around with. Like Har—" he stopped abruptly. Edward stared at him curiously.

"Har?"

"Ya know," the Joker said after several minutes of ignoring the inquiry, "the blonde kid who's always running around with me."

"Harley Quinn?" The Joker growled and Edward jumped slightly.

"Ye_p_," he said, popping his lips on the 'p', "that's the one." Edward didn't fail to notice the man's grip tighten significantly on the steering wheel. Deciding it was best to leave it at that, Edward continued to smoke in silence. Driving up to a house that had peeling powder blue paint and broken shutters, the Joker turned off the ignition and nodded at Edward.

"Let's go."

Walking to the front door, the Joker knocked in a sporadic way until someone threw open the door. Edward's eyes widened as he laid eyes on her; she was a goddess. The young woman had olive skin with rich, chestnut brown locks that flowed flawlessly down to her waist. Her shocking blue eyes bored into him before they switched back to the Joker.

"You need T?" Edward was surprised at the firm and fearless tone she used to address him. The Joker nodded wordlessly, and the girl gestured them inside. They slowed to a stop as she continued into the back of the house; Edward was mesmerized as her hips swayed elegantly away from him.

"T!" they heard her shout from the depths of the hallway. There was no answer. "T!" Still no answer. "Epimetheus!" She yelled, and they both sniggered slightly at the full name.

"What?!" a deep yell finally replied.

"There's someone here for you, now stop keeping him waiting!" She came back to the front and stopped in front of them. "He'll meet you back there," she told the Joker.

"You can stay here for a bit," the Joker told Edward, obviously as more of a command than a request. He descended into the back of the house, and the girl sat down on the brown sofa. After several minutes of awkward silence, she spoke.

"You can sit, you know," she told him. Her voice was smooth and sweet, and Edward automatically obeyed the savory sound. "My name is Layla, by the way. How about yours?" He cleared his throat before responding.

"Edward, I'm Edward. Nice to meet you," he said, sticking out his hand while thanking the heavens above that his voice didn't crack or something else equally as embarrassing. Wanting to hear her voice again, he started another light conversation.

"Epimetheus—that's an interesting name. Wasn't that the name of Pandora's husband?" he asked, already knowing the answer. He didn't care about her knowledge; she practically already had him on his knees.

"Yep," she said, sounding surprised. "Not many people catch that." She smiled, but it faltered as she caught sight of something on the floor. Following her gaze, he saw a spoon that was stained brown. He heard rushing in his ears and he was sure the blood had drained from his face. Shutting his eyes tightly, he tried not to think of the feeling the addictive drug gave him.

_It hurt you_, he told himself over and over again.

Ooh, but it hurt _so good._

"You okay?" her voice sounded like it was underwater. Shaking his head, he saw her face swimming in front of his own. She put a cold hand on his forehead and he sighed unwillingly. "Alright?" she repeated. Swallowing, he nodded. He hated himself for showing such a weakness.

"I'm guessing you were an addict too, yeah?"

_Too?_

"You were addicted?" He searched the ground reluctantly for the utensil, but did not see it. She must have put it away while he was in crazy-land.

"Yeah," she said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "It was more trouble than it was worth." Edward nodded solemnly in agreement.

"Thanks," they heard a voice say from the back. Layla quickly scribbled something on a scrap of paper that was sitting on the table in front of her. Tearing a piece off, she handed it to Edward.

"Call me if you ever want to... I dunno, talk about it." Edward stared into her eyes, smiling slightly. She smiled back.

"C'mon, Eddie, let's go," the Joker said, making them both jump. "We've got uh, business to attend to." He waved goodbye to Layla as they walked out the door. Getting into the car, the Joker turned to Edward.

"Okay, as for your, uh, job," he said, and Edward nodded, "this is what I need you to do."

* * *

The van rolled to a stop in front of the Iceberg Lounge. The Joker nodded at Edward as he straightened his green jacket. After he was sure it was appropriately fashioned, Edward stepped out of the vehicle and through the neon-lit doors.

The inside was dimly lit with blue lights, giving the atmosphere a cool feel. The bar was clear, along with the chairs, booths, and glasses, giving everything the illusion of being made of ice. Everyone seated was dressed classy, making Edward glad he decided to pack one pair of dress pants and his emerald jacket. Searching the room, he spotted what he was looking for. Walking over to the young blonde woman, he took a seat.

"A glass of Pinot Noir, please," he told the bartender. Looking over, he drank in the woman he was here to talk to: Harley Quinn. She wore a classy, form-fitting, red silk dress. Her nails were painted black, making her already milky white skin look almost translucent. Her hand loosely held a glass of red wine; if they already opened bottle the bartender was pouring into his glass was anything to go by, it was the same kind he had ordered. The glass was placed in front of him, and he slid over a few bills to the woman behind the bar. Harley looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"Classy," she said, eying his glass of wine.

"I could say the same, m'lady," he replied, smirking slightly. She smiled.

"Your face looks familiar," she said slyly. "In fact, if I remember correctly, it was on the news only a few minutes ago. You're Edward Nigma, aren't you?" He grinned.

"Riddle me this," he said, "If I say, 'Everything I tell you is a lie,' am I telling you the truth or a lie?" She put her hand underneath her chin, obviously thinking. After several minutes passed, she answered.

"A lie," she said. He raised his eyebrows, impressed. "It can't be the truth without contradicting itself, therefore being a lie."

"In return, I will answer your question. Yes, I am Edward Nigma. And you are Harley Quinn, are you not?"

"Ooh, you are a Riddler, aren't you?" he smirked, and she continued. "That's me."

"And where, may I ask, is your other half?" She frowned, and he let his face morph into one of concern. "I'm sorry," he said, truly meaning it. "Has something happened?"

"What can you expect? We're both crazy, wanted in twelve states..." she trailed off. "It's hard to keep up with him. Does he care, really?" Edward sipped his wine, respecting her silence and not saying anything. After a few minutes, he spoke out.

"I'm sure he does. He wouldn't have kept you around this long otherwise, would he?"

"I suppose not, but..." she narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just making conversation," he said, holding his hands up in innocence. He froze as the door opened behind him, and Harley looked to see who had arrived.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."

* * *

**A/N: **Left you on a bit of a cliffie there, didn't I? I'll try to get Part 2 up as soon as possible. Eddie's got a love interest hmmmm ;) I don't know if any of you noticed, but she is a refernce to Eric Clapton's song **Layla**; if you notice, I later quoted something about Eddie being on his knees, which follows with the song, _"You got me on my knees, Layla..."_ Indeedy. Haven't got much to say other than that. Hope you likey, and please review!


	12. One of THOSE Nights, Part 2

"_I'm going crazy and I've been awake for days;  
__my mirrors are stained with pain and portraits of your face."  
_**-One of THOSE Nights **by **The Cab**

* * *

Harley continued to run barefoot for several blocks until her chest was burning and she started to feel stabbing pains in her sides. As she began to slow down, she lost control of her feet and tripped over them, landing painfully as her already injured knee hit the ground. Her many bruises ached, only adding to the ever-present pain; physical and emotional. Turning her body over slowly, she stared up at the sky; you could never see the stars in Gotham. The city lights seemed to block the rest of the universe out. Although she tried desperately to keep them in, tears began to pour down her pink and purple cheeks. She let out a whimper and pressed her palms onto her eyes; before she could stop herself, she began to sob quietly. They soon escalated in volume, becoming so loud that she would have worried who would hear if she wasn't so wrapped up in her emotions.

"Oh, god," she gasped to herself between sobs, "I am so _fucked_."

She stayed there, on her back, for what seemed like hours (and maybe it was). Saying it aloud made it sound so harsh, but as she lay there thinking, she realized that she did pick this way of life. She chose it over her days as Dr. Quinzel because when she was working for Arkham, when she was working for the _system, _she truly had been _unhappy_. Her life had no meaning then; she remembered days where she would arrive home and sit on the balcony, searching for those stars. It didn't take her long to realize that, unlike what her father had told her when she was small, they were out of her reach. If anything, in Gotham, they were further away than ever. She sat up, ignoring the feeling of vertigo as she did so. A man with a black hoodie covering his face turned his head in her direction, obviously eying her beneath the clothing.

"What?!" She yelled at him. "Huh? What? What are you looking at?"

He just stood silently.

"What the _fuck_ are you looking at? You know what, man? Do you _know _what? No, you don't so I'm gonna tell you. Go ahead and keep walking, buster, or else I will release upon you the pent-up inner wrath of Harley-motherfucking-Quinn. I've had enough _shit _to deal with tonight without your prying fucking eyes looking at me like that. Do ya get it, or do I have to actually show you what I mean? Because I will. I'll fucking do it, I swear," her chest was heaving from the monologue, but she grinned inwardly as the man walked away briskly. "Yeah, that's right!" she yelled at his retreating back. "Fuck you, asshole!"

She spun around in circles, giggling as she walked down the street. She needed a cigarette. Looking down at her bare feet, she saw that they were bloody from the glass shards. She needed some shoes. She also took note of the red-stained, ripped clothes. She needed some clothes, shoes, and a cigarette. She giggled again. _What a shopping list!_

She could go rob a boutique and then rob a gas station or something, but she didn't feel quite up to it. Not to mention, she had no weapons; not even her hammer. In her rush to leave her partner's presence, she hadn't thought of picking up anything on the way out. She knew exactly where she could get all three.

* * *

She stood in the long hallway, awaiting assistance from one of Ozzie's many workers. A large man that stood much taller than her waved her over.

"Mr. Cobblepot will see you now, Ms. Quinn."

She walked into the carpeted office, not caring how much dirt and blood she tracked in with her. She smiled sweetly as Oswald Cobblepot turned around to face her in his swiveling chair.

"What can I do for you today, Ms. Quinn?" he croaked at her, obviously taking in her beaten appearance.

"Well, if it isn't too much to ask, Mr. Cobblepot," she said in the sweetest tone she could, "I kind of need a place to stay. And some clothes. And a cigarette. I _really _need a cigarette." He chuckled slightly, his eyes flickering briefly to her gashed knee.

"I don't usually give out favors like candy, Ms. Quinn," he said. She was about to interrupt, but he held up a hand, silently asking her to let him finish. "but if your appearance is anything to go by, you're probably not in the best shape. I wouldn't let a woman like you wander around the streets in this part of town, especially when you're injured." She bit her tongue to refrain from chewing him out for making a sexist comment. She stopped as she realized, although she was angry to admit it, he was right; she was a petite blonde with nice curves. She was already injured and without any form of protection; she was good with her fists and she always had her gymnastics, but she still wouldn't last very long in the shape she was in.

"Thanks, Ozzie," she said graciously. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, 'It's nothing'.

"There are rooms on the floor below the bar the bar; that's one up from this one. I'll ask one of my girls if they've got anything appropriate for you to wear." She smiled nicely at him. As he walked to the door, he stopped one last time and turned to look at her.

"I think it's appropriate that I should ask, Ms. Quinn—"

"Call me Harley," she interrupted. He nodded.

"Harley," he continued, "where is—" She interrupted again before he could finish.

"Can we just keep this on the down-low for now? I'm not feeling up to much _company_ tonight, if you get my meaning." He nodded in understanding, then walked out and closed the door quietly but firmly. Harley let out a long sigh; she spotted the day's newspaper on Penguin's desk, and figured he wouldn't mind if she borrowed it for a bit. When she set her eyes on the date, she laughed.

"Happy 27th, Harl," she said to herself, still laughing in a mixture of bitterness and disbelief. Yet again, the Joker had provide her with a present she wouldn't forget; a nice set of bruises, along with a couple of scars. Oswald came back in.

"I'll show you to your room; one of the girls has lent you a few pairs of clothes," he told her, smiling at the look of relief that washed over her face. She followed him into the elevator, zoning out until the reached the cream-colored door with gold detailing.

"Just call if you need anything," he told her. "The office number is next to the phone." She nodded and thanked him again. As she entered the room, she saw a 1940s swing-style, red dress hung up on the closet door. She immediately walked up to it, caressing the material with great care.

_You might as well, Harl, _her inner voice told her. _It's your birthday._

She jumped into the shower, basking beneath the warm water for at least ten minutes before she actually began to scrub the blood and grime off of herself. Once she was done scrubbing everything from her toes to her hair, she stepped out of the tub and began to dry herself. Looking in the cabinet beneath the sink, she found large rollers and a hairdryer. Grinning slightly at her luck, she rolled her gold strands into the rollers and dried her hair as slowly as possibly, hoping to avoid the frizz that was usually brought on by heat. When she was finished, she pinned the front of her hair to the side and let the rest of the perfect curls fall loosely onto her shoulders. Along with the other items, she had also found a basket full of unopened make up; everything from eyeliner to foundation was there. She applied eyeliner and mascara and dabbed the palest shade of powder onto her face. She smiled as she opened a bottle of deep red lipstick, letting the dark splash of color cover her naturally pink lips. Satisfied with her appearance, she walked out into the room, slipping into the dress that was hung up. She put on the black heels that sat at the bottom of the closet. She grinned as she spotted what lay on the bedside table.

"Thanks so much, Ozzie-man," she whispered, picking up the white and blue pack of Sobranie Mint cigarettes. Smiling, she walked out of the room and made her way up to the bar. The bartender gazed at her, drinking her in silently.

"What can I get for you, miss?" he asked politely. She smiled back pleasantly.

"Pinot Noir," she told him. A slow, haunting song began to play on the speakers around the bar, and Harley sipped her wine quietly. She noticed that the bar wasn't very full; naturally, the one night she wanted the noise there was no one there to generate it. She sighed as the song spilled what seemed to be the story of her life.

_Don't come in any closer, 'cause I don't know how long I can hold my heart in two._

Things had been too good for far too long; she supposed she should have seen the night's events coming. There was something that had startled her more than anything, however; she truly was going crazy. The way she chewed out the man on the street was a moment where she felt she had no control; nothing but pure, blind rage had rushed to the surface. She wondered if it was the same thing that the Joker felt when he did the things he did without warning. She felt as though no amount of restraint could have stopped the outburst.

Was he rubbing off on her?

_Of course he is, _she answered herself. She was not delusional enough to think that she could ever re-enter society as a normal, fully-functional citizen ever again. She had seen too much, killed too many. No matter how much the Batman and Commissioner Gordon wanted to see the good in her, she knew it no longer remained. That part of her had died long before she had met him. When she had first arrived at Arkham, she was an empty shell; after her mother left, her father seemed to just drift away. By the time she was fully grown, emotions were no longer an issue; she had learned to suppress them by the age of twelve. The Joker awakened things in her, and a small part of her hated him for it; she had worked for a long time to become the way she had, and when he strolled into her life, he carelessly wrecked it all.

_Just like everything else he touches_, she thought bitterly. She immediately reprimanded herself; no one could deny that the man was, truly, a genius. The only way he ever wrecked _anything_ is if he purposely meant to do it. While he didn't truly have a plan, when he thought out something it was meticulously calculated for every situation that could take place; there was never a thing that he never knew would happen. Although, sometimes when he looked at her, she could swear it was as if he never knew what she was going to do...

_Don't fool yourself into thinking you're that special, Harl. Being unpredictable in _his _life, hah! What a laugh._

She was shaken from her thoughts as a young man took a seat on the stool next to her. It took her no time at all to figure out who he was; Edward Nigma, the so-called 'Riddler'. She could always sort out disguises, no problem, and he wasn't even wearing one. She had seen him on the news earlier while she was getting dressed, revealing him as the murderer of the man who had tried to take her from J.

_Wait a minute._

As that thought processed in her mind a few more times, the more unbelievable it was. She refused to believe that it was mere coincidence that the man who killed the man the Joker desperately wanted to get his hands on was sitting here next to her. By now, if she knew him well (and oh, how she did), he would have found out Edward's name, home phone number, and address. Since he wasn't already dead, she could assume that J wasn't mad about him killing his next victim. That left her with two choices of the Riddler's purpose: either it really was coincidence, or the Joker had told him to follow her here to put in a good word for him as 'repayment' for saving him the trouble of taking another useless life. She was betting on the latter. She watched him as he ordered his drink.

"A glass of Pinot Noir, please," he told the bartender.

"Classy," she told him as she pretended to be interested in the bartender pouring the already-opened bottle of wine into an empty glass.

"I could say the same, m'lady," he replied, nodding to her glass.

"Your face look familiar," she said, acting as though she was truly oblivious to his identity. _As if. _"In fact, if I remember correctly, it was on the news only a few minutes ago. You're Edward Nigma, aren't you?" He grinned; it was all she needed for confirmation. She was about to continue when he started to speak.

"Riddle me this," he began, "If I say, 'Everything I tell you is a lie,' am I telling you the truth or a lie?" Placing her hand beneath her chin, she thought about it. It really shouldn't take her long; she was in love with a man who was practically a pathological liar (but he was, very much so, a man of his word). What a paradox.

"A lie," she said. He raised his eyebrows, obviously surprised she got it correct on her first try. "It can't be the truth without contradicting itself, therefore being a lie."

"In return, I will answer your question. Yes, I am Edward Nigma. And you are Harley Quinn, are you not?"

_What is this, Alice In Wonderland? Who talks like that? Honestly, he can't be any older than me, _she thought, giggling slightly to herself.

"Ooh, you are a Riddler, aren't you?" she said slyly, pulling the intended grin out of him. She supposed telling him who she was would be okay; there was no possibly way he didn't know, anyway. "That's me."

"And where, may I ask, is your other half?" She winced, frowning. Despite the sinking feeling she got in her stomach when he was mentioned, there was an upside; her thoughts were confimed. He was definitely on orders from J. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "Has something happened?"

_We're playing that game, are we?_

"What can you expect? We're both crazy, wanted in twelve states..." she trailed off, playing along. "It's hard to keep up with him. Does he care, really?" He sipped out of his glass, staying silent for a few moments, obviously letting her gather herself. After a few minutes, he broke the silence by answering her question.

"I'm sure he does. He wouldn't have kept you around this long otherwise, would he?"

_And I bet that's exactly what he told you to say._

She couldn't help but wonder, though; the statement did hold truth. If the Joker wanted someone dead, they were gone in a heartbeat, without thinking about the consequences; she had experienced _that _more than enough times to know.

"I suppose not, but..." she narrowed her eyes in suspicion at him, deciding to drop the bomb. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just making conversation," he said quickly, holding his hands up in innocence. He froze as the door opened behind him, and Harley swiveled her gaze to the offending noise.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."

Pamela Isely strutted in, looking nothing less than drop-dead gorgeous in a tight-fitting emerald dress. She pulled behind her, by the ear, one of the Joker's henchman. He was squriming in pain, but obviously did not want to upset the cool, calm demeanor of the deadly vixen that was Poison Ivy. Taking a seat on the other side of Harley, she nodded a greeting to the pair who were staring at her questioningly.

"I was told that this," she said, gesturing to the henchman, "is for you. He's under strict instructions to obey your every whim, except sexual favors." Harley laughed, shaking her head and downing the remaining liquid in her glass. "So, what did he do that he has to send this for repentance?"

"Same old, same old," Harley told her friend, "he gets angry over nothing, I retaliate, we both end up bleeding from somewhere, and it finishes with me walking out angrily."

"Same old, same old," Ivy repeated.

"So," Harley turned to Edward, "is this the start of his ploy to get me back?" He laughed, pressing his hands to his face.

"He said you would probably figure me out right when I walked in the door," he told her, still grinning, "but I knew nothing of this guy." Harley laughed, patting his shoulder.

"You're a good guy, Eddie. I like ya," she told him, and he raised his eyebrows. "Well, as good as we Gothamite criminals get, anyway. So Pammy," she addressed the redhead, "how did you get out?" After a moment of silence, she answered.

"Crane," she said simply. Harley beamed.

"How is _that _going, then?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Harl. We're just business partners." Harley continued to look ecstatic.

"Last time I saw you, you were 'just friends'. Now, it's 'just business partners'. Next, it's gonna be 'just fuck buddies'. Face it, Pam, you find him intriguing. Not to mention, he's pretty attractive. Those eyes..." she trailed off. She turned to Edward. "You're not to pass that on to you-know-who now, Eddie." He nodded, and Pam laughed.

"So, who are you?" she asked politely.

"I'm Edward Nigma," he said.

"Your parents like puzzles?"

"As much as Harley's liked clowns," he replied, and she grinned.

"And it runs in the family, too," she told him, laughing. Harley glared at her. "But seriously, Harls, what are you going to do?" She didn't need to clarify; all three of them understood what she was referencing to.

"I mean, I'll probably..." she sighed. "I don't know, honestly." Pam opened her mouth to speak, but the door creaked open for a second time. Harley stood, as she immediately recognized the deep purple-clad figure that towered in front of the door. His eyes caught hers, and he slinked over to her. He stood in front of her silently, and the rest of the bar followed suit; the few visitors quieted down and began to turn their eyes to the spectacle.

"Harley," he began, but trailed off. He didn't know what to say to her; he couldn't mask the deep, warm feeling of relief he felt at the sight of the glowing blonde before him. She looked so radiant in the dress she wore, and not for the first time, he realized that she was (he cringed to say it) beautiful.

He took her hand, and she grasped his in return. As he spun her around, he pulled her body towards his. She pushed him purposefully when she was pulled against him, the unnecessary force making his back collide with the wall behind him. He pulled away from it, pulling them both back to the center of the room. Dipping her low to the ground, he let her slip from his grasp slightly, allowing her head to knock onto the floor. She glared at him, letting the heel of her shoe dig into his foot when she stood upright. He winced, grabbing her arms tightly to hold her in place. She kicked him in the shin, making his knees bend at the sudden burst of pain. He pushed her away from him and she stumbled over. Getting up, she slapped him across the face. The loud 'smack!' resonated throughout the bar, and he turned his eyes to her slowly.

She backed away a few steps as he waltzed up to her. Pushing her against the wall much harder than she had done to him minutes earlier, her head hit a framed picture, making the glass crack. He smiled at her cruelly, and she smiled back; she raised the knee that was positioned between his legs up with great force, and the smirk was wiped off of his face with a groan. Pushing him away from her, she escaped the space between his body and the wall. As she turned back to face him, his knuckles connected with her cheek and stars danced in her vision. Stomping on his foot with her heel again, she used the distraction to punch him back; his neck whipped to the side and her knuckles throbbed from the force behind the hit. He retaliated quicker than she had, however, and threw a kick that landed in her side. She bent over, the wind temporarily knocked out of her chest. The bystanders watched, shocked, as he slapped her again while she was still keeled over. He laughed as she stood up to full height stiffly, glaring at him. The cackles were cut off abruptly as she literally jumped on him, the force of her body knocking him to the ground. She punched every inch of him she could get his hands on before the shock wore off and he began to protect himself; it was then that he threw her off forcefully, managing to get her several feet away from him. They both looked at each other as if they were shocked, and then both turned to the bar. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as they ran for the bar, each jumping over the top and grabbing the first bottle the could get their hands on; both smashed the end off on the bar and held the sharp tip to the other.

Silence ensued for several minutes, everyone frozen in their positions; even breathing seemed to pause. Finally, Harley broke the silence.

"Why didn't you just use your knife?" she asked, the side of her mouth curling. The Joker dropped his bottle, letting it shatter as it hit the floor. He grabbed her roughly by the neck, pulling her face to meet his own. Harley responded without missing a beat, letting her lips fall into sync with his as she dropped the bottle and wrapped her hands around his neck. He picked her up, letting her wrap her legs around his waist as he placed her atop of the bar as they continued to kiss deeply. Everyone in attendance was so transfixed, they did not notice another person enter the Lounge.

Jonathan Crane took note of the incredible mess; glass and blood splattered random areas of the floor and wall. He turned his head to what everyone seemed to be staring at; the Joker and Harley Quinn in a tight embrace, covered in bruises and blood. He saw Ivy, and walked up to her slowly.

"Have I missed something?" He leaned to her, whispering. She jumped, obviously just noticing his arrival.

"They beat the shit out of each other, destroyed the bar, and then..." they both looked at the couple, still engrossed in one another.

"Nothing out of the norm, then," he said. Harley, still kissing the Joker, raised her middle finger at the both of them. The tension in the bar seemed to ease as a few people chuckled at the gesture.

"Nope," Pam said, "nothing out of the norm."

* * *

**A/N:** Hey, I know I suck. I told you guys this was gonna be up like two weeks ago. Life does those things to me sometimes, though. But I was so determined to give you guys something that I stayed up until 12:22 (on a school night, mind you) to get this to you. The song quote that Harley hears in the bar is from **Psychobabble **by **Frou Frou**. The fight scene was inspired by all the amazing guitar solos in **Voodoo Chile Blues **by **Jimi Hendrix. **It also was kind of inspired by the steamy fight/sex scene in _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_--you have to admit, that scene was totally badass. And no, the story is not over yet; we still have many ends to tie and more characters to appear. There are quite a few more chapters planned before this story meets its' end. If I didn't reply to your review, I'm sorry I didn't get around to it; I'l make sure it doesn't happen again! Anyway, hope you guys like this one, and as always, please review!


	13. Love Buzz

"_Would you believe me when I tell you  
you are the queen of my heart?"  
_-**Love Buzz **by **Nirvana**

* * *

Here they were again.

It had been two weeks since their big fight, and not much had changed. While neither of them had really expected it would, Harley had hoped things would be a bit better for a short time. They had, in a sense, but the tension was steadily building again. They were on a heist, and had succeeded in retrieving what they had come for; they sat in the upstairs control room of the large building, looking at all the security cameras for the Batman. Edward had torn down the computer's defense system in seconds, allowing them to access all of the video feeds.

"Why are we waiting for the Bat, again?" Eddie asked. The Joker patted his shoulder.

"Oh, Eddie, so much to learn. You see—" he stopped dead as something flitted across the screen. They were all surprised when they saw the offending object; it was not the large black shadow that they expected, but a teenage boy wearing a dark red hoodie and dark jeans.

"Who…?" Harley trailed off as they all continued to study the screen. The boy moved with great agility and as he turned to face the camera, a small black mask could be seen covering his eyes. Harley tipped her head to the side in confusion, Edward making similar movements. Her eyes widened as the Batman dropped down next to the boy, obviously communicating with him. Eddie searched the systems and keyboards to see if any of the feeds had sound. Obviously not finding any, he returned his gaze to the screen. All that could be heard in the control room was stunned silence.

"What is that?" the Joker asked, interrupting the silence with a voice lined with rage. "What is _that_?"

"Oh god," Harley muttered, foreseeing an outburst. Eddie could sense the change in atmosphere and froze in place, hands hovering above the keyboard.

"Come on, J," Harley said, placing a hand on his shoulder softly. He tensed visibly, shoulders hunching away from her touch.

"_What is that?_" he repeated. She sighed.

"J," she began, "you got a sidekick of sorts. Maybe Bats decided he needed one, too." Before she could continue with her theory, his hand flew to her face and sent her flying. Edward jumped out of his seat.

"Woah! Hey, hey, hey! Come on!" he protested quickly, holding his hands up in front of him as if to defend himself. "Come on, man, it's not her fault!" The Joker glared at him, and spun on Harley.

"Is it your fault, Harls? Huh? Because you, uh… entered the battle, Bats decided he needed a back-up birdie?" Harley glared back at him.

"Wouldn't that make it _your _fault? _You _took me along for the ride, _didn't you_? Don't try to put this all on me as if you had no say in the matter!"

The Joker stared at her, stunned and enraged. What was _that_ supposed to mean? The couples' intense gazes were broken as Eddie spoke.

"As much as I enjoy watching this lovers' quarrel, could you shut the fuck up?" He was obviously panicked; Harley looked back at the screen and realized it was for good reason, as the Bat and his new counterpart had disappeared off screen. "The Bat and his helper are on their way up here, and I'm not waiting for you guys to kiss and make up." Placing his newly-stolen emerald fedora on his mop of hair, he checked his pocket for the keys to the van. He heard the jingle of metal and turned to address the couple again. "You coming, or not?"

After a moment of silence, Harley got to her feet.

"I am," she said. "As much as I love my rendezvous with the Dork Knight, I'm not going back to Arkham twice in one month."

The Joker looked torn. He wanted to confront the Batman and his new plaything he was dragging along with him, but he also knew that the chances of them escaping in this small room were very little. He nodded curtly in Harley's direction, and the three criminals ran out of the door and down the stairwell that led to the exit. Harley nearly tripped on the last step, but the Joker held her up under her armpits as soon as he saw her falter. He was startled to realize that he hadn't even thought about the action; it had just come naturally to him. His instinct saw her begin to fall, and told him to stop her from hitting the ground. The Joker didn't save people from peril; it was his job to lead them into it. He shook his head of the thought; there were larger problems at hand. Jumping into the driver's seat of their white van, he floored it and drove back to the hideout.

Edward didn't say a word as he got out of the vehicle; he went straight to the room that he stayed in, not wanting to know what was about to ensue between the two psychopaths and most certainly not wanting to be caught in the middle of it. Shutting the door firmly, he lay down in the bed and closed his eyes in exhaustion.

The Joker stood in the kitchen, watching Harley devour a tub of vanilla ice cream. His mind was still reeling at the thought of Batman's newly acquired sidekick and the way Harley was creeping into his mind and slowly becoming a part of him. The fleeting ideas were halted quickly as she interrupted him.

"Oh, quit pouting, sour patch," she told him roughly; he stared at her, startled at her biting tone. She sounded so eerily familiar and his jaw nearly dropped when he realized that she sounded like _him_. He supposed he should have seen it coming; she had been with him almost everyday for what had to be a year now. It was only a matter of time before he began to rub off on her. His eyes followed her as she got up and made her way over to him. She placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look into those baby blues that made his stomach feel uneasy.

"So you lost your playmate," she said, smirking slightly so that he couldn't help but smile back, "but just so you know, you're pretty much stuck with me forever." It was something about the way she was looking at him that made him feel vulnerable while at the same time feeling secure. It wasn't that he didn't already know that; they had both acknowledged the fact that she wasn't going anywhere, and he often thought about the way she was constantly stable in his life. But in that moment, something in his mind clicked and made him realize that he was truly stuck. She had her claws in him and she wasn't letting go, but he now knew that he didn't want her to.

"Just like peanut butter and jelly," he said softly, and she laughed.

"Just like peanut butter and jelly," she agreed.

* * *

**A/N: **Oi, hey there. Maybe there are still some of you that are actually following this story! I'm aware this chapter is obscenely short and dissatisfying. I've had the worst case of writer's block ever, not to mention it's summer and I really don't give a damn about anything. I've been feeling pretty uninspired and extremely distracted by other things. I obviously need to watch The Dark Knight like 5 times in 2 days to fix this. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I really am! I didn't mean for it to be so long, time just flew by and before I knew it was like two months since my last update. OH AND BTW, don't hate me for putting Robin in. I promise he's not going to suck. He's not even going to appear frequently. Just give the kid a chance! Drop me a review and tell me how much you hate me for being a procrastinator. I love you all!


	14. This Could Be Anywhere In the World

"_This city, this city is haunted, and there's no hope left for these souls."  
_**-This Could Be Anywhere In the World **by **Alexisonfire**

* * *

Layla looked out of the window of her bedroom, fiddling with the many rings on her fingers. It was raining in Gotham, making the already dreary part of town in which she lived look much more gloomy than it already was. Her father had always used to tell her that her blue eyes looked electrifying when it rained, but when she looked in the mirror these days she couldn't see much in them at all. Her parents died six years ago, leaving her with her brother; they might as well have left her without a guardian at all, for as much trouble as her older sibling was. She felt like the older one most of the time, more so since she had stopped using drugs. Looking down at her scarred arms, she wondered whether she should've stopped at all. Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the front door slam closed.

"T?" She called, listening for her brother. "T, is that you?" She got up from the bed, hoping the silence wasn't a sign of something worse. As she passed through the doorway, she heard a crash that sounded from the living room. She cursed, running towards the noise. Upon arrival she found her brother, keeled over the coffee table and puking onto the wooden floor. He was covered in sweat and shivering, trying to catch his breath when he wasn't retching. She sighed, turning to go retrieve a bowl in the kitchen that would serve as a better home to her brother's vomit than the floor. Grabbing the largest one she could find, she jogged back to her sibling who now had his head leaned against the sofa and was breathing heavily. He looked at her as she sat down beside him and smoothed back sweaty strands of hair from his forehead while placing the empty bowl beside him with her other hand.

"I'm sorry, Layla," he said weakly. "I always do this to you…"

"Shh," she hushed him. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay. How are you feeling?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but quickly flattened himself onto the floor and bent his head into the bowl to hurl. She breathed out slowly, closing her eyes as she lifted his shirt and attempted to bring him comfort by rubbing circles onto his back. Tears began to sting her eyes as she felt his body shake from both being sick and shivering. She waited a few minutes after he stopped vomiting, then stood and began to pull him up with her. He looked up at her, his eyes red.

"Come on, T," she said softly, pulling his arm again. "Come on, baby, I'm gonna bring you into the bathroom, okay? I'm gonna make you a bed in there, that way we don't have to dirty any more bowls, okay? Come on. There we go," she told him as he lifted himself off of the ground. She placed an arm around his waist and he automatically placed one around her should, allowing her to carry some of his weight; how quickly the moves had come to both of them reminded Layla painfully how frequent this had become.

They turned the corner into the bathroom, and she placed him down on the rug in front of the toilet. He lazily removed his shirt and threw it to the side, then placed his hand around the bowl and rested his head on his upper arm. Layla smoothed back his hair again and placed a light kiss on his temple. She grabbed his sweat-soaked t-shirt and brought it into the laundry room, placing it into the washing machine. From there she went into the pantry in the kitchen and grabbed some towels to clean up the mess in the living room. Grabbing the used bowl and rinsing it out in the sink, she then walked to her room and retrieved some spare blankets and brought them into the bathroom. Epimetheus sat in the same position she had left him in, but his eyes were now closed and he had removed the rest of his clothing. Covered in a new layer of sweat and completely naked, Layla wanted to cry as she saw how hopeless he looked. She set the blankets down and spread them out, making a bed for him to lay on. She moved towards him and put her hands on his bare back, again rubbing circles onto it. He opened his eyes slightly to look at her, and smiled slightly. It was short lived, however, as he retched into the bowl seconds later.

A few hours later, he had finally gone to sleep on the bed she had made for him. Smiling out of pure relief, she turned off the light and left the bathroom. She sat down on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. The house was completely silent. Layla's eyes began to water and she completely let go, a sob ripping out of her. She had never signed up for this. She remembered now that it was worth it to stop doing drugs; her brother had quickly reminded her that feeling good for a few hours was not worth the pain it brought afterwards. She cried for what seemed like forever before her cell phone vibrated on her bedside table. Tears still streaming down her cheeks, she answered without looking at the screen.

"Hello?" Her voice was weak and cracked a little, but she was past the point of caring. She heard shuffling, and she was about to repeat herself when a male answered.

"Hello? Layla?" She recognized it as Edward, the guy who had come in with the Joker.

"Edward, is that you?" Her voice was still weak.

"Yeah, just call me Eddie." There was a second of silence. "Hey, are you okay?"

It was all it took for her to start crying again. She sobbed quietly into the phone.

"God, no," she said, placing a hand onto her head, which was now throbbing.

"Why?" he inquired, obviously worried. "What's going on? Has something bad happened? Do you need me to come and get you?"

"No, no, it's not that," she told him. "It's T. He just came in, puking all over himself, sweating. Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie. We were so stupid, getting into all these goddamn drugs. I can't do this anymore, I didn't sign up for this. Seeing him like this…" she trailed off, fresh tears sliding down her face. "I don't wanna be the one to find him dead because of a motherfucking drug overdose. And it's gonna happen if he keeps this up."

"Have you tried telling him that?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," she said, laughing bitterly. "And he always blows it off, like it's a joke. That's all anything is to him; a big fucking joke. He wasn't fucking laughing when it was me coming home like that." The line was silent; he was obviously thinking about what to say.

"What's he doing now?"

"Sleeping. He should be okay now, but in the morning I know he'll be gone before I'm up and probably out getting more fucking drugs." She sighed, the waterworks finally coming to a stop.

"Tell you what, I'll come and pick you up tomorrow. We can go out and get your mind off of this stuff." She laughed.

"And go where? You're a wanted man, Nigma. I do watch the news, ya know." He laughed genuinely.

"We can make it work. So what'dya say, 12:30?" he asked, sounding hopeful. She smiled.

"12:30 it is, Mr. Nigma."

"Layla?"

"Yeah?" she answered.

"Just hang in there. It'll be okay." She smiled, nodding although he couldn't see it.

"Thanks."

"No problem. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Right. G'night, Eddie."

"Goodnight, Layla."

She smiled and hung up the phone, placing it back in its original place on the table. Perhaps tonight wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

Edward walked into the kitchen the next morning, opening the cabinet and grabbing a box of sugary cereal. He turned on the coffee pot, and jumped when he turned around and saw Harley right behind him.

"Morning, Harley," he said, sitting down at the table. "I'm surprised to see you up this early."

"Yeah, well," she said, taking a seat across from him, "the bed was cold when I woke up this morning; hard to get back to sleep after that." He knew she meant that the Joker had left earlier in the morning, leaving her alone in the bed that they shared. He had probably gone off to meet with someone to do some job that neither of them knew anything about. The thought reminded him of Layla and her brother.

"Say, Harley," he inquired. "Do you know Epimetheus?" Harley screwed her face up for a few seconds, then her eyes widened in recognition.

"Epimetheus Niccals? As in, T?" she asked. "If so, then yes."

"Yeah, that's him. What does he do, exactly?" She shrugged.

"Sells guns, among other… things. Why?"

"Just curious. I've sort of… made friends with his younger sister," he told her. She seemed to light up.

"Oh, Eddie! You've got that look in your eyes! You like her, don't ya? Can't blame you, she's a gorgeous little thing, isn't she?" Harley clasped her hands together excitedly.

"Yeah, it's just, we were talking on the phone last night. She was rather… distraught. Her brother had come home in a state that wasn't so pleasing." Harley's cheerful expression fell.

"Oh, yeah," she said quietly. "Those kids have had problems for years. Parents died when she was only sixteen, leaving her with the only living relative: T. He was twenty-three at the time, I think. That was six years ago. She was wrapped up in drugs for a good while, but she's clean now, as far as I know. T's still hooked, though. I think he got himself in a lot of trouble a while back, and J helped him out of it in exchange for his services. It was before I was with J, though." Harley got up as the coffee pot beeped, and poured two cups.

"I never got the whole attraction to drugs thing, though. I guess I just wasn't cut out for that," she said lightly, placing the cup in front of him. He took a sip, wincing as the hot liquid burned the roof of his mouth.

"You're lucky," he said.

"I guess so."

They sat in silence, Harley reading the paper and Eddie eating the rest of his cereal. When he was finished, he grabbed the keys to the car Harley had stolen a few days earlier.

"Thanks for the coffee, Harl," he said.

"Where are you heading off to?" she asked him, looking curious.

"I told Layla I would go and get her today. I'll be back later." She grinned.

"Have fun! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

He laughed and shook his head, closing the door behind him.

* * *

**A/N:** Hurray for updates! I thought I'd give a little insight into the lives of my little creations, Epimetheus and Layla. Sorry about the lack of Joker in this chapter, but we have to give everyone else the spotlight every now and again, too. Their last name, as you now know, is Niccals. This is a tribute to the fictional band member **Murdoc Niccals** of the **Gorillaz**, whose music I listened to while I wrote this chapter. Also, the scene with Epimetheus was very much inspired by a similar scene in the movie _Less Than Zero_, which came out in 1987. It's not a grand movie, but Robert Downey Jr.'s performance as Julian was absolutely beautiful, and made me want to cry. You should really check it out.

I'd also like to thank **Bloodroot Godot, Platinim13, **and **megprend **for reviewing on the last chapter. You guys really motivate me. And thanks to the rest of you readers out there for favoriting this story. Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you!


	15. Say This Sooner

"_This makes me feel that I'll never be quite normal;  
this makes me act like I'll never get out alive."  
_**-Say This Sooner **by **The Almost**

* * *

Harley smiled as she watched Eddie walk out the door. Grabbing her coffee, she went back to her room and slipped under the covers after placing the cup on the bedside table. She snuggled into the cool surface of the pillow, allowing her eyes to close in hope that she might just be able to relax for the rest of the day. As much as she loved being in the Joker's presence, it was nice to be alone for a while. Before she knew it, consciousness slipped away from her and she fell into a comfortable sleep.

Not an hour later, the Joker walked in through the front door and dropped the keys on the counter. The hideout was strangely silent as he looked in the living area to see if anyone was there.

_Eddie must've gone out,_ the Joker thought, observing the half-empty coffee pot. Strolling into his bedroom, he grinned at what he saw. Harley, dressed in only one of his shirts, was curled up in the sheets. Her back was facing him, allowing him a gracious view of her backside and his eyes trailed greedily down her one exposed leg. Removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, he stepped out of his shoes and into the bed behind her. He placed his arm lightly around her waist, pulling her close to him so that the curve of her behind fit snugly into his groin.

"Harley," he whispered into her ear, hoping to rouse her somewhat peacefully. She moaned softly, snuggling into the mattress and pulling his arm tighter around her while bringing his hand into hers. He smiled softly and rubbed his nose on her cheek. Bringing his mouth to her neck, he repeated himself.

"Harley," he said again, and the rumble reverberated on her throat. She shivered, goosebumps rising all the way to her toes. She blearily opened her eyes, turning to look at him.

"Yes, dear?" she said sleepily, faking agitation. He chuckled, seeing through it like she knew he would.

"Good morning," he said cheerily, leaning over her to grab her coffee off the nightstand. He took a sip, grimacing at the cool temperature. "God, that's awful. When did you make this?"

"Over an hour ago," she said, laughing at his expression. "Eddie left to go on a date."

The Joker's eyebrows rose.

"A date?" he asked. "With who?"

"T's little sister, Layla," she replied, taking the cup of cold coffee from his fingers and sipping some of it. She grimaced, but resisted the urge to spit the mouthful back into the cup. "God, that is awful."

He laughed, resting his forehead on her shoulder. His hot breath seeped through her shirt (well, technically, it was _his _shirt) and onto her skin, making her shiver. He smiled at the reaction, pressing his lips on the curve between her neck and shoulder. She sighed, snaking her hands into his hair and began to scratch his scalp lightly as his hands worked their way underneath her shirt while his lips continued to trail down her neck. Removing the shirt entirely, he spoke.

"I have a job for you," he said against her skin. She looked down at him.

"Is this an actual job, or are you trying to talk dirty to me?" she asked, and he barked with laughter.

"It's an actual job," he said, still laughing. "The dirty talk comes later."

She rolled her eyes, slapping his arm softly. "Well?"

"The kid that's Batman's new sidekick—they're calling him Robin. Think you can go out tonight and dig around in my sandbox a little bit? Just to see if uh, anyone has any news on him," he proposed, letting his hands fall onto her stomach. "I know how you like to get your uh, your hands _dirty_."

She chuckled quietly.

"I'll think about it," she said. He smirked, and neither spoke another word as his shirt followed the same path that hers had.

* * *

"What do you need?"

Bruce turned away from the glowing computer screen to the stairs, where Selina was now making her descent into the cave.

It wasn't much of a cave anymore, seeing as the new mansion had been rebuilt. The structure beneath the house was similar, but the particular piece where all the things for his "other job" were held had been remodeled completely. It was still enormous, and still had a back entrance where vehicles could enter.

Selina wore tight, dark jeans and a crisp white button-down with heels so high that Bruce cringed inwardly at the thought of even _attempting _to walk in them. Her dark curls were pulled away from her face, save for a few strands that had fallen out of place.

"Did you just get back?" he asked. She nodded, finishing off the last of the stairs casually and making her way over to him. He turned back to the computer.

"Buy anything nice?"

"Cut to the chase, Bruce," she said. "What do you need?"

Bruce sighed, looking up at her from his place on the chair.

"I can't go out tonight. My last patrol wore a little worse on me than I thought it would," he told her with regret, wincing as he shifted his injured ankle.

"You want me to go out instead?" It sounded more like a statement than a question, and the exasperated look on her face told him more than her words did. She would do it, but she didn't want to.

"In a way," Bruce said slowly. Selina stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. The cave was silent, other than a news feed running up on the screen that echoed throughout the room.

"_The billionaire, missing for three months, returned home yesterday and surprised everyone with his statement at the press conference he called himself…"_

Bruce's eyes flicked to the screen, then back to her face. Selina began tapping her foot with impatience.

"Well," he said finally, "I've decided to let Dick go out tonight—"

"Without you."

"—And I need you to keep an eye on him," he finished, ignoring her comment. "I know he's nineteen and he's been training with me for months, but I still don't feel comfortable…" he trailed off, glaring at the screen. Selina sighed, putting her hands on his shoulders and massaging the knots there.

"Bruce," she said, watching the goosebumps rise on his neck, "you can't expect him to trail you around forever. I'll keep an eye on him," she assured him as she felt him stiffen up. "But I'm not going to let him know I'm trailing him. And I'm certainly not going to be watching his _every _move. He's a legal adult, you know."

"I know." His voice was rough, and infused with a sigh that didn't quite make it to the surface. She put her head on his shoulder, placing a kiss on his neck.

"Who knew the Batman would be afraid of an empty nest?" she couldn't help herself, and she grinned as he glared at her. She began walking up the steps, bracing herself for what was sure to be a long night.

"How did you get down these stairs with that ankle, anyway?" she called to him, turning around to see his face.

He ignored her.

* * *

Harley hadn't found out much; she had asked around, but not enough to raise suspicion. All anyone seemed to know was that his body was that of a teenager (albeit a _very_ fit one), and that Batman called him Robin. She couldn't help but feel for the kid—he must've had a pretty bad childhood to want to spend his teenage nights with the Bat.

She figured there was only one way to truly find out anything; she needed to get it straight from the horse's mouth.

So she set out to the deeper, inner layers of the Narrows; Batman tended to patrol there frequently, as that's where the Scarecrow tended to find test subjects for his latest toxins. She wasn't dressed up, so roaming here wouldn't be too much of a problem—all she wore was a plain black hoodie, a pair of ripped jeans, and her sneakers. It was mid-September, and Gotham was just starting to get chilly at night again (which was just luck, really—now the hoodie was much less suspicious). She saw a young woman crossing the street, dressed in a waitress' uniform and a coat. The girl pulled the coat tighter around her while looking around (one could never be too careful in the Narrows).

_Perfect, _thought Harley.

"Hey, sugar," Harley called out to the woman. She turned abruptly, obviously already nervous because of the darkness. Harley ran swiftly over to her and got in close. Grasping one of Mr. J's knives behind her back, she began to speak.

"I'm giving you some advice, woman to woman here: bring some clothes to change into after work. That outfit, down here," she gestured to the street around them, "_not _safe, honey." Pulling out the knife, she held in front of the woman. "You want me to show you what happens to girls that don't?"

The woman screamed shrilly, and Harley grinned. If she was incredibly lucky, the Bat would be hanging around somewhere near here.

A figure swooped down—one that definitely wasn't the Batman.

_Even better!_

"Let her go." His voice wasn't at all gravelly like the Batman's, but a deep, mature voice all the same. Harley immediately let go of the woman's arms, and turned around to look sweetly at the boy known as Robin. The woman ran away quickly.

"You'll only find a rapist if you're running that quickly without looking!" Harley called to her retreating figure. She turned back to Robin and smiled gleefully. "Sooo, you're the _famous _Robin. Gotham is just _buzzing _with information about you."

He stayed silent, and Harley rolled her eyes; he had _obviously _been taught be the Bat. She began to circle around him, enjoying what seemed to be a look of uncertainty erupt on his face as he spun around to follow her movements.

"Well," she started again, "since you seem to be no good with words, I'll start with the introductions."

She moved quickly to try and get behind him, but he matched her just as swiftly. She grinned.

"Harley Quinn," she purred. "It's a pleasure." At that, he made a move towards her; she automatically jumped backwards a few steps, her graceful gymnast's feet allowing her to do so seamlessly. She laughed aloud.

"So tell me," she asked tauntingly, "what happened to this little birdy? How did he end up in the hands of the big, black Bat?" He made another grab for her, but she only dodged it again. "What's the matter? Afraid to hit me because I'm a girl?"

He hesitated. _Bingo._

"Let me give you a tip, kiddo. The girls in this town—they don't play nice." She took a swing at him with her hammer, and it narrowly missed him. "So step up to the plate."

"You belong in Arkham," he finally said, staring her down. She laughed.

"Tell me something I haven't heard before, bird boy. Too bad for you, though, I don't intend on going back any time soon. I've got a man waiting for me at home." She smiled. "Speaking of men waiting for us at home, where's Daddy Bat this evening?"

"He's on vacation." Harley turned quickly at the sound of a familiar voice. Catwoman stood on a ledge several stories above them, looking down on the scene.

"So he sent his most faithful pussy… cat?" Harley jested, swinging her hammer. "Gotham's finest—and by that I mean most wanted—have been betting how long it would take the two of you to get back together again. It was only a matter of time, I suppose. Now Daddy Bat and Mommy Cat have got a little bird in the nest, too!"

Catwoman growled, flipping down several ladders to stand next to Robin.

"Just go home, Harley. I'm not bringing anybody in tonight, especially not _you_. It's not worth the trouble that would undoubtedly follow." Robin looked at her incredulously, as if to say, _What the hell are you doing?_

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Bats. Give the rest of the family my love."

And with that, she was gone.

* * *

**A/N: **I am SO SORRY about the enormous wait for this! I went to England for three weeks, and then I went back to school right after I got back and then I have loads of homework every night... yeah I know, excuses, excuses. I AM sorry though, truly. If you're still reading this, I love you. A lot. I'll give you a cyberhug if you guys guess who the missing billionaire mentioned in the Bat cave was. I'm sorry if I don't post again very soon after this, I am, after all, in the year from hell. Or so they tell me. Love you guys lots lots lots, if you keep reading, I'll keep writing!


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